


Daughter of Eä

by Little_vesuvius



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Evil Magnet Bilbo Baggins, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, And Trouble, And migraines, BAMF Bilbo, Bagginshield-Freeform, Bramble is earnestly done with Thorin, Bramble is tired of Dwarven songs, Bramble/Thorin arguments are becoming a thing, Can she please not have to deal with this, Cultural Differences, Don't Be Fooled Those Trees Will Kill You, Don't worry culture clash will stop happening soon, Dwalin is protective, Female Bilbo Baggins, Female Ori-Freeform, Fili and Kili are really good people, Gratuitous Use of Khuzdul, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rom-Com Elements, The Dwarrow have to actually follow directions for her to feel better though, The Old Forest is Creepy, This Hobbit is Nothing But Trouble, Thorin is a jerk, Warning for Possessive Trees, Warning: Bramble gets migraines, Warning: Dwarrow are unable to follow directions, Warning: Elements of Horror, Warning: Mentions of Miscarriage, and trees, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:09:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 44,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3432500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_vesuvius/pseuds/Little_vesuvius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of Bilbo Baggins, Bramble Baggins is born to Belladonna Took-Baggins and Bungo Baggins.  To a pair of parents who never thought they would have a child, she's a blessing.  To the rest of the Shire, she's a peculiarity.</p><p>Now the master of Bag End, Bramble lives on her own, content with a life of peace and quiet.  She's everything a Baggins should be.</p><p>Enter Gandalf and the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.  That rude Dwarf won't stop staring!  It certainly doesn't help that they all think she's a male Hobbit...</p><p>(Or, that one in which Bramble is a trouble magnet, and a lot more than she seems, but the world knows it even if the people don't.)</p><p>Edit: I am working on many, many stories at once and I have written over 100k over the last year or so.  I'm trying to format all of it so i can post the first chapters of new stories and I'm still sorting through the inspiration.  Not to worry, nothing is on hiatus anymore; I am just really good at starting way too many projects, and I moved this summer.  Also, I'm trying to transfer all of my ideas into Scrivener.  Nothing is abandoned, I'm just distracted and I have over 50 things I'm writing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Adventure?!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first shot at posting something serious; I feel like if I post a story, I'm committing myself to it. Which I probably am. I owe both Tolkien (I bow to you sir) and Midori Snyder for this idea. It spawned, and took on a life of its own over the past month or so, bringing you this.
> 
> That said, I'm not spoiling anything. If you know Snyder's work, you'll still be surprised, so don't worry about it. 
> 
> I'm perfectly alright with constructive criticism; in fact, I welcome it! Please let me know, respectfully, if there is anything you think I could improve on. I'm always trying to make my work better, and I'm my own beta, so I'm likely to miss typos.
> 
> If I have any of the Khuzdûl wrong, please correct me. There is none in this chapter, but there will be some in future chapters. I'm doing my best not to butcher the language but I don't know it very well-if someone could direct me to a dictionary or link me to one that would be amazing!
> 
> Note (as of 2/26/15): I'm new to AO3, so for the first day or so this was published it said it had 1/1 chapters. It is NOT over. I'm just unused to the way that posting on this website works. Thank you, everyone, for pointing out the problem in the comments.
> 
> Note to my Readers (as of Oct 30, 2016): I am doing NaNoWriMo, so while chapter 6 is in the works, everyone, I am really, really trying to get to where I can manage (and have it flow beautifully) a large cast of characters. This is my first time, so my stories are getting put on hold until at least the end of November if not the end of this semester. I'm sorry to do this to you guys, but please understand that when untangling plot lines I found that i had enough for 3 novels in one world, and 2 in another, and it ate my brain. ALL of my stories are being put on hold for now, as I really do not have enough time to do anything else. I have been dumping worldbuilding notes into Scrivener since starting this series.  
> This MAY be updated during that time, but i highly doubt it, and for that I am sorry. Soul of Light, my next Hobbit story, as well as a one-shot requested by a reviewer, will also likely be put up by the time I'm done because I will need brain candy, as my dad calls it. (Sort of like the easiest thing to think of). I will not be abandoning this story! I promise you; this story WILL remain in production until it is finished, and it may take me a REALLY long time to do so, but right now I am attempting to make sure I can actually sit down and only work on one particular story for a set period of time. I'm also hoping it makes it easier for me to regularly update, outline, and finish my fanfics, once I get through them, since I am finally finding a balance.

**Chapter One: An Adventure?!**

* * *

 

In a hole, in the ground, there lived a Hobbit.  This was not a dirty, nasty hole, but a home, built into the hillside.  Under a great hill. And it was known as Bag End, built as a labor of love.

This Hobbit was perfectly respectable.  She never went on any adventures or did anything unexpected, though some Hobbits maintain she was rather peculiar all the same.

At least until the wizard came along, meddling old man that he was.

That meddling old wizard had ruined the young Hobbit’s respectability and reputation for the rest of her life.  It didn’t appear to matter much to her, of course, and she went off into the East, never to return.  Rumor had it that she had died in the East, the casualty of some great war. Another rumor said she had married a Dwarf, and found a family.  Yet another had her helping to slay a dragon.

So the stories all say.  But we all know stories can be told and re-told, and are changed each time by their storytellers.

The truth, on the other hand, is often much more complicated.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Bramble Baggins sat in her garden, enjoying the crisp, damp morning air and the breeze ruffling her hair.  She’d had quite the slow morning, enjoying the sun at her back as it rose and listening to the song of the dawn.

The Shire had the gentlest morning song that she’d ever heard. Not that she had heard many, since she didn’t travel all that much, but compared to the song of Buckland, she much preferred the slow waking harmony of the land she loved.

Taking another slow sip from her cup, she looked over at her garden, taking a short break from her book.

While she was not nearly as talented as her mother had been, she was still a fair hand at coaxing plants to grow.  It was this strange skill at gardening that had allowed her to fit in from a young age; after all, she was not quite _ordinary_ , not even if she was Belladonna’s daughter. But her singing was quite possibly the only reason she was even passable at it.

As a little girl, she had started by singing to her parents, and then to the garden.  While all Hobbits loved to sing to their gardens, it wasn’t quite the same when she did it. The Baggins’ garden was the envy of all the Shire, even if she had little to no actual skill at gardening.

Still, they could hardly complain when the best apple fritters in the Age and the best of the best foods were prepared from ingredients straight out of her garden.  If there were two things Belladonna’s daughter could do, it was cook and garden with the best of them.

At everything else, she was not quite so fortunate as to be gifted, but sensible Hobbits never really thought twice about that.  Honestly, she was quite a respectable Hobbit, aside from one unfortunate part of her situation, to most of the Shire.  She was nearly fifty-one, and had yet to even take an interest in another Hobbit, much less agree to marry.  While there were single Hobbits, it was strange to find Hobbit lads and lasses going so long without marrying for comfort and companionship, if not for love.

But Bramble’s disinterest was quite apparent.  After her parents had passed away, she felt it better to remain, and care for the house they had put so much love into making a home, all by themselves.  She didn’t need to define her life by what made her comfortable, nor did she want to.

She also didn’t smoke, but that was because it reminded her too painfully of her parents, and it had an…interesting effect on her that she was happy to keep hidden.  It was not quite as proper for a lady Hobbit to smoke as it was for the lads, so this was not so unusual as it seemed.

Bramble Baggins was already the talk of the Shire, every autumn when wedding season came around, and she was sick of it.  Her family defended her reputation in public, but behind closed doors, she was called names.  At least one of her cousins had insinuated that she must be barren, too.

For why else would she avoid marriage, to become a spinster, soon to be on the shelf for good?

Bramble had learned to ignore the whispers, and went about her day with a smile on her face.  Even if she was considered a little odd, she could live with it, so long as she had a place here. The comforts of a home and hearth were all that she truly needed, and as long as she had her home, she could bear the rumors.  Besides, she had promised her mother that she would remain in the Shire, until she had some reason she had to leave, to look after the house.

Or so she told others.  It was more due to her duty and because she sought to avoid the road if at all possible, given its dangers.

Still, that was no reason not to enjoy the wonderful tea she was drinking. It was a rather spicy mixture put together by her mother, and just about the only tea Bramble would drink now. It burned rather pleasantly against her tongue, and made her smile at the memories; she never could abide the weaker stuff the Hobbits of the Shire drank. 

Besides, the burn woke her up in the mornings.

Bramble was startled out of her thoughts by the sight of someone who was quite clearly not a Hobbit making their way up the path toward her front door.

No, he was clearly the size of a Man, and she could see his gray, pointed hat coming towards her first, and then his gnarled, wooden staff. She could also see an old, wrinkled hand holding that staff, though she couldn’t imagine who it could be.

He came to a halt just outside of her garden gate, towering over her. He was of a height with the Elves, she decided, revising her opinion, for he towered over her in a way that not even the Men of the world did.  Though he looked like an old man, his eyes told a very different story.

He had a song, and she could hear it.  At first, it was faint, but as she started listening for it, it became stronger until it was nearly roaring in her ears, and there was a very different being standing in his place.  He still had silver hair, but it was now cleaner-looking and much straighter. His robes were now a shifting silver color and he had the look of an Elf, rather than a Man, with stern, stormy gray eyes and far fewer wrinkles.  Power surged through her at the sound of his song, power she’d never felt before.

Yet she felt no fear of him.  His song gave her no reason to fear and his eyes were kind, even mysterious as they were.

Then she realized she had let him stand there for at least half a minute without greeting him; blushing, she cleared her throat “G-Good morning,” she managed to stammer out.

“Good morning?” demanded the wizard, though she could hear his amusement, “Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or tell me it is a morning to be good on? Or perhaps you mean to tell me that the morning is good?”

Bramble blinked a few times, but the young-faced Elf she could see did not leave his Man-shaped counterpart in its place.  Nor did the strange double-timbre in his voice.  Did all Elves sound so, or was it just he that did?  

“Er, all of them at once, I suppose,” Bramble said, frowning.

He made a “hmph” sound, looking at her expectantly.

Almost as if he was waiting for something, like she was supposed to recognize him.

“Can I help you?” she asked politely.

“Yes,” said the Elf, but made no move to explain himself.

Bramble blinked up at him, squinting as the sunlight hit her eyes. What could he possibly want from her?   His song gave no hint of it, only that he was expecting something.  That wasn’t good.

“Er, excuse me,” said Bramble, after a little while, “I don’t believe I know your name.”

“Oh, you know my name,” said the wizard, “You just don’t remember that I belong to it.  I am _Gandalf_ , and Gandalf means…well, me!”

Gandalf. Not the one with the amazing fireworks, who had the knives Bramble had loved to fetch for her mother when Belladonna had asked?  She hadn’t seen him in the Shire since the Old Took had passed away.

“Gandalf?” gasped Bramble “Not the same Gandalf who used to set off such excellent fireworks at Old Took’s birthday parties?  I had no idea you were still in business.”

Gandalf huffed at her.  Given what she could remember of the Wizard, and what she saw now the two were nothing alike at all.  But then, she’d only been a child, and her gifts hadn’t emerged until later in her development. That was why she didn’t recognize him; he looked nothing like the old Man she remembered being at her grandfather’s parties.  And his song had changed a little, since then.

“Well,” huffed Gandalf, “Well.” There was a pause, and then “I am looking for someone to share in an adventure,” he offered.

An adventure?

An _adventure_. Oh, no, she couldn’t do that. Not if she wanted to retain what little respectability she had.  Bramble wasn’t the type to leave her home, her _place_ where she knew she belonged, for the terrifying outside world her mother had been so fond of.  She couldn’t understand how someone could do that.  She was a Baggins, of Bag End, and that was the end of it. She wasn’t supposed to want to go on adventures and she certainly didn’t like the idea of leaving the safety and comfort of the Shire.  And yet…

Strangely enough, a part of her really, desperately wanted to leave.  That Tookish side of her, her less responsible side that usually emerged when she was really tired, or forgot herself while she was alone.  That part of her that enjoyed the adventures she wrote about and read about, enjoyed transcribing old maps and learning everything she could of the world. Her far less respectable side, the one that would only see her reputation trashed beyond repair and see her lose her place in the Shire.

Her mother had always told her not to venture outside the Shire, had impressed it on her in fact, despite the fact that Belladonna had been the one to leave the Shire most of all of the Tooks.  She was known far and wide for traveling with Gandalf, but she had settled down and become a respectable mother, if a Took.  Often, Bramble had wondered what it was about the world that made her mother fear it so, but she trusted in Belladonna’s judgment.

She would not be venturing out into the unknown.  It was too dangerous.

Her reputation would be in tatters the moment she accepted visitors, much less left on an adventure with them.  At least here, she had a place to escape to, with books and all the comforts of home-outside the Shire, she had nothing.  _Nothing_.

“No,” said Bramble, shaking her head “No.  There’ll be no adventures here, thank you very much,” she said, standing up to address the wizard at her full height “Try over the hill, and across the water, if you want a Hobbit looking for an adventure. Now, good morning!” she was almost shouting now, and turned to head into the house.

“Yes,” she heard him say quietly “it is decided.  It will be very good for you, and very amusing for me.” Bramble growled quietly under her breath, and said nothing as she stomped toward her house “To think, I would live to see the day I was ‘good morning’d’ by Belladonna Took’s daughter!”

His words struck deep, even if Bramble couldn’t bring herself to face him. She stopped, her hand resting on the door, as she felt it again.  The full weight of her being a Baggins, of Bag End, and what that meant.

She was Belladonna Took’s daughter.  When all was said and done, Bramble knew, no matter how many fears she had about the outside world, she wanted an adventure, wanted something to tear her away from her books and maps, but she couldn’t.  Couldn’t he understand that?  She _couldn’t leave_.

It was home.  Hobbiton had always been home to her, for as long as she could remember, and the familiarity of the Shire was something she loved.  She couldn’t see herself waking up in the morning without listening to its gentle voice, or going to sleep without it singing her a soft lullaby. The land that loved and adored her even if the people didn’t. 

The people were another reason she wanted to stay.  She loved them, for all they gossiped about her like she was an old, mad spinster and she would only add to that reputation by leaving. Even if they weren’t that kind to her, some of her relatives did understand the position she was in, being half a Took and Baggins, and torn between being one or the other. She would never have fit in anywhere if she had chosen to be both at once. 

And she would have none of that if she went on an adventure. The Baggins relatives she had who had only begun to accept her just after she’d proven herself an able manager of Bag End and her family estate would shun her.  Her Took relatives would make her the talk of the Shire. Didn’t he see that she would destroy her entire life if she went with him, no matter how she wanted to?

The wide world wasn’t without its dangers.  Belladonna knew of Orcs, knew of Goblins and other nasty things that lurked in the dark and she had warned Bramble not to venture outside the Shire.   She’d told her stories of adventures, marvelous things that they were, but Bramble never really felt the need to indulge her Took side with more than a ramble about the countryside every now and then.  It was the safe option, and really, she needed to be safe.

She needed to be safe and she didn’t have that on the road.

Didn’t Gandalf see that if she left, she would lose all of that? The land that loved her, the people that were growing to understand her, her family-she gave all that up if she left now.  She’d made such progress in the last ten years that she couldn’t bear to undo it all.

“I’m sorry,” said Bramble, resting her forehead on the door for a moment, “But I can’t.”

“You cannot tell me,” said Gandalf gently, “That you are happy here, in the Shire?”

Bramble sighed.  The wizard never stopped poking his nose in, and meddling where he wasn’t wanted. Couldn’t he see that she didn’t think about this for a _reason_?

“No,” said Bramble, turning around to glare at him “Thank you for reminding me, Gandalf.  Is there anything else you’d like to pour salt in while you’re at it?” Gandalf winced “I am content, and I am comfortable. That is more than many people in this world have and I am willing to be grateful for it.”

Gandalf frowned at her “Ten years ago, you would not have said the same,” he murmured.

“Ten years ago,” bit out Bramble, trying to keep a handle on her Tookish temper and failing “I was a very different Hobbit.  Like I said, if you’re looking for an adventure, try over the hill and across the water!  Good _day_ to you, Gandalf!” she opened her door and slammed it shut, almost immediately sagging in relief.

She hated this.  She hated going against everything her mother had ever taught her about being rude, but she couldn’t.  She could not, did not want to leave this place for a silly thing like an adventure. Her traitorous heart, though, was telling her otherwise.  She told that little desire to go to the Halls of Mandos; she would have no adventures here. Not today, not tomorrow, and certainly not because some meddling wizard poked his overly large nose in!

The heavy scent of pine invaded her nostrils, reminding her to calm her feelings, and Bramble did so.  She took a few deep breaths, trying to remain calm rather than blowing up about the situation, as she could feel the wizard was still outside.  She scurried to the front door and locked it as quickly as she could, pausing when she felt Gandalf stop outside the door.

Then she felt him turn to leave, and almost sagged, sighing with relief. She heard something, like a discordant note, that sent a shiver of warmth through her.  Sparks flickered in her palm for a moment before she managed to push the warmth back into her chest, and she pressed her ear against the door to listen.

The sounds of wood being scraped against made her frown. That wizard, that-that-oh, he had better not have been _writing_ on her door!

It was only when he had walked far enough away that he wouldn’t notice her opening the door that Bramble opened it wide to look down at it. There was nothing on the front of her door, but she could hear something new anyway.  A second glance showed that there was a tiny mark, almost like a blue scuffmark on the front of her door, and she scowled as it hummed and twinkled at her, forming a strange rune before her eyes.

Huffing, she went indoors and brought out a wet rag, dishcloth, and soap. She would also have to repaint the door. Blast that wizard!

Bramble reached out to brush away the last remaining traces of magic on the door with her fingertip.  It was glowing a bright, sharp blue, so bright it couldn’t be hidden.  Probably leading his blasted adventure right to her. Well, she’d certainly show that wizard.

When her fingertip touched it, Bramble froze.

The warmth left behind in this mark was fresh, and so well-hidden, so cleverly squirreled away and quietly controlled that she almost didn’t sense it.   But as she felt it out, she couldn’t help but smile.  It was tiny, but gentle and fierce all at once, and it reminded her of her days traipsing through the Shire dressed as a Hobbit lad.  Tears welled in her eyes, and her throat seized as she fought not to cry; oh, how she _wished_ she could go back to those days.

Maybe she could leave it, just for tonight. Gandalf wouldn’t arrive on anyone’s doorstep immediately expecting an adventurer by the next morning, would he?

Bramble slowly lowered her fingertip, swallowing hard.  As she stepped away from the door, the concealment occurred again, and this time, she could’ve sworn it winked at her.  But she had to be seeing things.

Didn’t she? 

It didn’t matter all that much, anyway.  She had to get to market before the stalls closed, else her pantry would be empty.  She would have to grin and bear the gossips’ words again. 

Scowling at the thought, Bramble stomped away to collect her ledger and baskets with which to carry the food. 

*-*-*-*-*-*

Bramble arrived home from the marketplace with a lighter pocket, laden down with the food she’d bought.  She could not quite understand what had possessed her to take so much food from the market all at once, and she knew she’d gotten quite a few strange looks for it, too.

All throughout her time in the market, she’d had her mother’s voice ringing in her head, admonishing her for not giving Gandalf a chance to explain himself. For not taking him up on his offer. She was half a Took, and it would have been perfectly reasonable for her to leave on an adventure like the Tooks did!

She tried to tell herself, as she unloaded her parcels into the pantry, that she was only doing it for her own good.  That the adventure would have been disappointing at best, and at worst, she would have returned in disgrace if she returned at all. She would be a hindrance to those on the road, and she knew it, yet here she stood, regretting it.

Her mother had always told her to follow her heart.  Belladonna’s dying wish had been for Bramble to find the adventure she’d been waiting for her whole life, and Bramble had just thrown that chance away, to stay a part of the community that she didn’t truly belong in, in the first place.

Belladonna had believed her daughter’s gifts were exactly that, gifts, rather than unnatural.  Bramble had always been her mother’s miracle child, the only child she would ever have. Some said that Belladonna’s womb was barren, but it was only in the final years of her life that Bramble had learned Belladonna had had children, but only one survived the pregnancy. Bramble.

That was why Belladonna was so protective of her daughter. Bramble was the only child Belladonna and Bungo would ever have.

That didn’t make her different, she wanted to shout, just because she had survived.  Just because she was the only surviving child of a Baggins and a Took, didn’t mean she was different. It just meant Belladonna had had trouble even having children.

It had to.

Bramble swallowed hard as she set down the last of her purchases and put her basket aside to wash.  She should have heard him out.  Her mother would have. Her mother would have been ashamed that her daughter had kicked out Belladonna’s oldest friend without even hearing him out.  Belladonna had always encouraged her Tookish side, always tried to tell her that she didn’t have to be one or the other.  Her father had done the same, in his own way, trying to tell her that just being Bramble was enough.

Oh, why didn’t she have any _sense_ when her fool mouth decided to get her into trouble?!

At least she’d left the mark on her door.  Tonight, she would be ready for these adventurers, even if they didn’t appear on her doorstep.  She needed to hear them out, at the very least.  If only to honor her mother’s last wish.

She would have to thank Gandalf for his meddling later.

Bramble whistled as she started her tea, a melody that had always reminded her of adventure.  She hadn’t whistled such a tune in years, not since before the Fell Winter, but her heart was light and she almost felt like dancing, which would be improper.

With tea in hand, Bramble went to her study, still whistling.

What sort of adventurers would Gandalf bring to her door, to meet?

That symbol had to mean something.  It had looked almost jagged, like it could be cut into stone, as Gandalf had carved it into her door.  It certainly didn’t resemble any of the Elvish runes she’d ever seen, even those written in stone, so that meant Elves were out.  That left her Dwarves and Men.

The Men of the North didn’t write with such symbols either. They either chose to write in Elvish lettering, but used Westron, or tended to write in code. Her mother had had some friends in the Dúnedain, and Bramble had been taught several of their codes. That wasn’t a symbol she knew in any form of their language; nor was it Rohirric, the language of the Horse-Lords. Certainly Gandalf wouldn’t bring Men of the East into the Shire-it was just asking for serious trouble.

That left Dwarves.  The children of Aulë, the secret race of craftsmen and miners, who jealously guarded their cultural secrets and never spoke a word of their customs to strangers. They were almost of a height with Hobbits, so at least the furniture would be suitable.  Bramble frowned, abandoning her tea as she walked to the library her father had built in the back of Bag End.

She knew nothing about them, but she could at least make a token effort at learning.  Though there were several books on the Dwarven race, they were often written by Men or Elves and seemed derogatory, in the same way that Men and Elves regarded Hobbits as cute and childlike.

They most certainly would not be.

There was only one book she owned that detailed Dwarves, and was written _by_ Dwarves. Specifically, it was written by Narvi, who had been a great friend to Celebrimbor, the Ring-Maker. Bramble smiled as her finger brushed along its spine, and she pulled it out carefully. 

She was not supposed to have it.

All other copies of this book had all been lost, along with its secrets, but she had kept it.  It was hardly simple, but Bramble had only taken a look at it twice in her life. Most of it was written in a dialect of Khuzdûl no longer spoken in any corner of the world.

It had been a gift from the Lady of the Golden Wood to Belladonna, as a wedding present, to be used later in life.  Belladonna hadn’t ever understood why, but she had still told Bramble about it, and about the Lady.  The Elven Lady of Lórien was a Lady of Light, said to be able to see events that would come to pass.

Maybe this had been what the Lady had foreseen. 

It was bound, not in leather, but in a peculiar sort of scaly skin that was always warm to the touch.  Its pages were still bright, almost silvery in color, and the bright bluish-black of the ink had not faded, but grown sharper over the years that Bramble had handled it.

With the warmth of the book in hand, she returned to her study, and sat down in her armchair.  She did not know what the title of the book was, only the opening chapters’ titles, as they were written in Sindarin and she was fluent enough to read it.

Yet even that had evolved over the years.  Turning to the first chapter, she read _Habits and Customs of the Dwarven Race—Celebrimbor_.

_The children of Aul_ _ë, our sister-race, are quite secretive, but they have always had good reason to be…_

*-*-*-*-*

Much later that night, Bramble sat down with her dinner, book in hand. She had taken a break from reading while she cooked, whistling to herself all the while, but her curiosity had led to her returning her nose to the book almost immediately after she’d sat down.

She was about to cut into the meat on her plate when the doorbell rang. It rang once, twice, and then several times, as if someone was jamming his or her finger onto the bell. Bramble huffed, and set down her fork and knife, picking up the book. 

A refined lady Hobbit, she reminded herself, did not bellow at intruders.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” she muttered under her breath, hurrying to open the door.

Standing on the other side was confirmation of all her suspicions. There was a Dwarf standing there, on the doorstep, wearing armor and furs.  The top of his head was bald, with several tattoos across his scalp, and he reminded her of a bear.  There was some gray in his hair, but not much, and his black beard was braided, but not intricately enough to mark him as nobility.  A massive warhammer was visible over his right shoulder.

Well, then.

“Good evening, Master Dwarf,” said Bramble, frowning at him as his song echoed through her.

It was deep, and much more bell-like than she had anticipated-like a great gong resounding through her head.  It made her a little dizzy, as it was practically shouting at her that this was not just any warrior Dwarf.  Bramble could hear, dimly, that the Shire’s song had also changed, softening itself as it brushed against his song.

He grunted at her, clearly not recognizing her as male “The wizard said there’d be food.”

The dwarf, still nameless, stomped past her into the house, muddying up her polished wood floors, and of _course_ he hadn’t stopped.  Bramble started after him with a scowl as she knew what he’d be going for, book still in hand.

Perhaps leaving the mark on her door hadn’t been such a good idea after all.  


	2. The Company of Thorin Oakenshield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dwarves arrive. I wish I could've written more, but Bramble had a lot to say, and chapters become long really quickly when handling so many characters all at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Apologies for the slow updates-I'm finally on Spring Break, so I can update this (and I've put off most of my other homework to do it). I'm a college student and a STEM major so, unfortunately, with 18 units and research I have exactly zero free time during the semester to write or update unless I'm on holiday-and even then it's pretty rare.
> 
> I also have this tendency to need to really, seriously think through the chapters before I write them, so it makes it difficult. Here's to hoping I did it right.
> 
> Edit (as of 03/24): Hey, I was really concerned about getting this chapter up quickly, and forgot to add this note (well, that and finishing the chapter). Special thanks to Fallen_Leaves_25 for linking me to the Dwarrow Scholar's work! This will be very useful for me, though I hate to say that only a little Khuzdûl will be used until Bramble finally gets past the early stages of her relationship with Thorin (which won't be for awhile, I'm sorry).
> 
> Edit (as of 04/28): Hey, sorry it's been so long-I posted this in a comment thread and realized I should probably update this too. I'm going to have chapter three up in the next two weeks, but I've been caught in the insanity that is end-of-semester crunch time at my school and it's finally starting to get less insane. I fixed the translation and spelling of Eä, too. 
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone who is commenting and leaving kudos on my work; it's really encouraging!

**Chapter Two: The Company of Thorin Oakenshield**

* * *

 

The moment she arrived in the kitchen, Bramble was greeted with a very unwelcome sight.  The rude Dwarf from earlier had just sat down and picked up her fish, not even bothering to wash his hands, before he started eating it!  Honestly, hadn’t he ever heard of manners before?

Bramble scowled at him, “Excuse me!” He turned to look at her, piercing, stormy eyes meeting hers as bells rang through her head again “How long has it been since you washed your hands?”

The Dwarf blinked at her. “It doesn’t matter,” he said slowly.

“Oh?” Bramble could barely believe it.  How was she managing to stand up to someone who towered over her, even if his song meant that he was really quite gentle? It was as if someone else had taken control of her mouth, and was speaking to him. “In my culture, it is considered _normal_ to wash them before we eat.  Is it not considered the same in yours, Master Dwarf?”

The Dwarf’s song echoed through her as he flushed a little “Aye, Master Hobbit, it is.”

Master?  Hmph.  She knew Dwarves valued their females, enough that they would not let them leave their homes if untrained, so she let it slide.   For now, it was probably better for her to be considered male.  Besides, it was also the custom of Dwarves for the women to dress like the men.

“Then wash your hands, Master Dwarf, before you touch the food,” Bramble said firmly, meeting his gaze without a second thought.

She could hear something echoing in his song, something she’d heard only a few times before; it was in Gandalf’s and in a few of the Hobbits’ she’d spoken to, as well.  But she had never been able to determine what it was.  She waited until he stopped staring at her, and went to the sink, doing exactly as she had told him to.

As she watched, she listened to his song, unfolding her arms.  It wasn’t a sad song, exactly, but it was fast-paced and deep.  Strangely, there was a lighter tune weaving its way through the song, but it was tinged with sorrow, and it was _loud_.  So loud it was making her head spin to focus on it.

As she focused on his song, his tattoos began to fade, blurring aside from two, at least that she could see.  A ghostly Mohawk appeared around his head, as if he had had his hair shorn off at one point.  Odd, given what little she had learned from her book; Dwarves cared about their hair above all else, so why would he shear his off? 

A mournful sorrow settled around his shoulders, as well as a deep, aching loss that pierced her heart like a jagged piece of wood.  Bramble fought to keep her face straight as she felt the pain, however distant, of losing something so precious he would die simply to keep it.  Even as old as the wound was, the pain would never leave him, for while she did not know what he had lost, she could feel its sting, and the poison the loss had left behind.

She tried to pull herself out of his song, but it was difficult, as the Dwarf immediately moved to the stewpot.  Then he paused.

“Master Baggins,” he addressed her again “Where do ye keep the dishes?”

“Cabinets,” she gestured above him “And the places are already laid out on the table, though if there are more than ten, I will need to make room for more.”

The Dwarf just nodded, but before she could ask him more questions, the doorbell rang.  It was distant, compared to the sudden resonance and melding of two songs, if only for a moment-him, and that of the Dwarf at her door. 

Bramble excused herself “That’ll be the door,” and headed for the front door.

She could hear his song as she approached, ringing with that of the Dwarf in her kitchen loudly, though through this Dwarf’s song there was no lighter tune.  There was, however, a curious ringing, rather steady, as if one had timed a hammer to fall on every four beats. (1)

Bramble opened the door to see a young-looking Dwarf with white hair, shot through with black, standing before her.  His beard was long and ended in three peaks, and unlike the other he had white hair streaked liberally with black on his head, curling around either of his ears.  He was wearing a red robe, almost like a traveling set of robes, and his eyes looked old.  Very old. 

He was wearing an axe, but it was a ghostly silhouette rather than an image.  It either meant he was traveling armed, or that he was most used to using an axe in battle.  It would be foolish to travel unarmed these days, especially if he was even close to the age his eyes were. 

The Dwarf smiled at her “Balin, son of Fundin, at your service lad,” he said, bowing from the waist.

“Bramble Baggins, at yours and your family’s,” Bramble said, with a respectful bow back.  That much she had learned, now that she could remember her manners “Beautiful weather tonight, isn’t it?”

“It’ll rain later,” said the Dwarf, as he stepped inside, politely wiping his feet on her mat.

At least one of these Dwarves had some manners.  Bramble moved behind him to hide a wince as she shut the door, hearing his song clanging against the other Dwarf’s.  They had to be family, _close_ family at that, or they were husbands, but that seemed unlikely, as they appeared to be related.  Eru, her head felt like someone was trying to stamp on it with the way Balin’s song was resonating with his friend’s!

“Brother!” cried a loud voice from the kitchen, the bells resonating with a CLANG that shook Bramble’s heart in her chest. 

She found herself standing and watching, forgotten, as the two moved closer to each other.  Balin wasn’t quite so tall as his brother, but she could see the relation now that she saw both of them near each other.  They had the same nose, and the same eye shape, even if they were clearly decades apart.

“Ho ho!” laughed Balin, as Bramble leaned against her doorframe, thankful that they were overlooking her for the moment.

She would have to get used to this, if they were to be together in the same company.  But she could no more ignore their songs than her own racing heart!  How could she possibly grow used to this?  Hobbits’ songs were so much quieter than theirs were.

“You’re wider and shorter than last we met!” greeted the taller Dwarf with a smirk, clearly amused.

“Wider, not shorter,” Balin replied, his name echoing through his song. “And sharp enough for the both of us,” he winked at his little brother.

The two of them clasped each other’s arms, and before Bramble could move, they had knocked each other’s heads together, producing a great gong-like sound that echoed around Bag End.  Oh, but she was glad she had not gotten up now.  Bramble felt herself growing a little lightheaded as the two of them moved towards the kitchen, only vaguely aware of what they were doing as she regained herself and managed to stand. 

She made it to the kitchen, only to see the two Dwarves inspecting her food.  However, Balin, at least, washed his hands before he started in on the food.

“Lad,” said Balin, and Bramble bit her tongue, nodding “Where is the silverware?  There’ll be more of us than ten.”

“It’s in the drawer to your left, next to the sink,” Bramble replied, listening for the lighter tunes weaving their way through both of their songs.  “Here, I can set up a place for your companions,” she suggested, feeling a mildly pleasant haze settling over her as the songs rang through her ears again. “How many will we be expecting?”

“Twelve, not counting the wizard,” said the nameless Dwarf gruffly.  His brother elbowed him “Right.  Dwalin, son of Fundin, at yer service lad,” he said with a bow.

“Bramble Baggins, at yours and your family’s,” Bramble replied, bowing back to him.

She pulled out enough silverware for the table, only to realize there was a problem. “The table isn’t big enough for thirteen people to sit comfortably,” she said, as Balin turned towards the stove.

“Have ye got a bigger table you don’t mind us using?” inquired Balin.

“There is one, in the sitting room; it’s big enough to sit three more people,” Bramble frowned, “I will eat in the kitchen while I finish preparing,” she decided, after a moment of deliberation. “A Man-sized chair can be given to the wizard.”

“Aye,” agreed Balin “Brother, set up the dishes.”

“Do be careful-the tablecloth has already been burnt three times and I really don’t want to lose it,” Bramble called after the Dwarf, as he carried away two steaming pots in hand.

“Now,” said Balin, “This table of yours.”

Bramble quickly picked up her fish and lemon sauce dinner, and set it just inside the pantry so that Dwalin did not mistakenly take it to the dining room.  Then she led Balin into the sitting room, and moved several heavy books off of the table, not even glancing at their titles and setting the last book, which she’d been carrying under her arm, on top.

Balin eyed it with no small amount of surprise “And where did you get _that_ , lad?” his voice was soft, just barely loud enough to be heard over his song, and a note of deep reverence wound its way through the song as she listened.

“T-the book?” She stuttered, a little startled. “It was a gift to my mother, when she was younger,” said Bramble, swallowing hard. “By the Lady of Light herself.”

Balin looked down at it with an almost reverent expression “This book was lost in the sack of Khazad-Dûm,” he whispered, stroking the front with one finger. “The Lady of Light had one?”

Bramble nodded, surprised that she could not hear any revulsion or anger in his tone, only wonder.  Dwarves and Elves were supposed to have a mutual enmity, but perhaps there were exceptions.  Or rational ones, at the very least, in every race.

“This book is a treasure,” said Balin quietly, looking at her “One we thought lost, long ago.  It is a treasure of the house of Dúrin.”

“Then by rights it should go to the House of Dúrin,” Bramble said firmly, “I will not keep a book that is supposed to be an heirloom.  I should not even think of bringing it.”

Now she felt a little sick at the thought of owning it, even for as long as she had.  How could she have so callously overlooked that it was a priceless book?  Clearly, there were not many books written such as this-and certainly, if none of this kind existed anymore… 

“Nay, lad,” Balin said, picking up the book and handing it to her “You would do well to keep it.” Bramble stared at him in surprise “You can read Sindarin, I presume.” When she nodded, he continued “This book…the craftsmanship is such that it will never weather, never take damage, and never fade.  Such books are _legend_ to us now.   You will need it or you will offend one of us.”

Bramble snorted; it wasn’t like she didn’t already offend all of Hobbiton.  It would hardly be different with these Dwarves, would it?  But maybe she had a chance.  She took the book when it was offered, but it still did not feel like hers-it was a family heirloom, even if she had need of it right now, and she would see it returned to its rightful owners.  Balin was watching her like a hawk when she looked up.

“Let’s get this table moved, and I will bring the book,” Bramble said, as it was finally cleared off.

Mercifully, Balin did not ask her any more questions, and instead lifted the table himself and carried it into the dining room.  His song was lighter and happier than it had been before, and it made her smile.

The doorbell rang as she tucked the book back under her arm, and with it, two intertwined songs that were so different from the Dwarves’ songs that she almost cried.  They were young, almost innocent enough that they could be those of Hobbit children, but deeper than Hobbits’.  They were, however, _much_ lighter, and a good deal higher, than those of Balin and Dwalin.  However, unlike Dwalin and Balin, their melodies did not mesh entirely, and instead were constantly vying for one place in the song.  Yet they were not contentious, nor were they truly discordant with each other’s melodies.

As she moved towards the door, she heard their songs resound against, and then harmonize with, Balin’s and Dwalin’s shared harmony.  They were so loud, though, that she felt them adding to the mild, pleasant haze across her mind.  Oh, she was going to have a hard time getting angry with these Dwarves, even if the newer ones’ songs promised mischief, just as her young cousins’ did.  They made her want to leap to her feet and laugh, dancing madly to the merry tune, but she did not. 

The last thing she needed was for the Dwarves to think she was a mad Hobbit and leave her behind.

She answered the door with a smile on her face, seeing two brothers standing on the other side.  The hum the four songs made now that they were harmonized was making it very difficult to feel cross with them over anything.  

One of the songs was more bell-like than the other, but the other was shot through with this flute-like instrument whose melody reminded her more of the songs she always heard near running water.  The two young Dwarves were also grinning at her.

The first of them was blonde, with his hair patterned into several intricate braids (even in his mustache, which looked vaguely painful) with beads on the ends.  He had stark, brilliant blue eyes, almost like the stormy blue ones of Balin’s brother, but they were much younger.  The Dwarf was much taller than she, and quite tall even by Dwarven standards, but he didn’t tower over her as much as Dwalin had-even if it was unintentional.  He was wearing quite a few weapons, and a warm-looking green cloak was draped around his shoulders.  This Dwarf was no older than ninety.

The one standing to his right looked younger; the other Dwarf had only stubble for a beard, and almost no braids in his hair.  In fact, she could only see one, and it was hanging just behind his left ear, with a green bead on the end of it.  His hair was raven black, like Dwalin’s, and though clearly he was much older than her cousins, his grin promised mischief just as theirs did.  His eyes were the same stark, bright blue as his brother’s, but his were full of mischief, where his brother’s eyes were more serious-just as their melodies were.  He couldn’t have been but barely of age for a Dwarf, and was maybe around his seventies or eighties, with the stubble he sported, but he had long sideburns.

Both of them reminded her of overly active puppies, albeit mischievous ones, despite the weapons they were carrying.

“Hello, Mr. Boggins,” chorused the two of them, voices harmonizing almost as neatly as their songs did.

“I’m Fíli,” greeted the blonde one.

“And Kíli,” said the dark-haired Dwarf.

“At your service,” the two of them chorused again, and bowed to her.

Bramble’s first instinct was to gape, because in the moment they chorused, she could hear only one melody, and it spoke of trust.  She managed to keep her mouth shut, because the second reaction she wanted to have was to burst into helpless laughter as Fíli’s and Kíli’s songs grew louder.  They were so _young_ , singing of mischief and love and hope, that it made her want to hug them both.  Even if they were adults by their people’s standards, they weren’t spiritually adults-though they were nearly adults in both respects, now.

She was keeping her eye on these two.  With songs like those, they were going to be just as bad as her cousins, if not worse.

But their songs were beautiful, if loud, and open.  Did the rest of the world see what she did?  Celebrimbor might have the answers.  Though from the way he had opened the first chapter, she had the feeling the rest of the world did not see what she saw.

“Ah-Bramble Baggins,” she bowed to them quickly, hoping she hadn’t been rude “At your service.”

“Baggins?  Kíli, you said it was Boggins,” said Fíli, looking confused.

“I could have sworn…wizard said…was Boggins,” Bramble blinked, trying to focus on their words as the four songs meshed for a moment, ringing louder than before, and all she could hear was the ringing of deep metal bells.

For once, she wished she was unable to hear all that she did.  It was too loud.  Even if it made it easy to like people, to understand them, she still missed what they were saying.

What could it mean?  That they were so loud, no matter who they met?  Dwalin and Balin certainly hadn’t quieted down, and neither were these two.  The last person who had been this loud to her ears was her own mother, and even she had grown louder over the years rather than growing quieter as most Hobbits did.

Then Fíli and Kíli were stepping over the door frame, and handing her their weapons. 

Kíli said “Don’t drop these, just had them sharpened,” teasingly, winking at her in a way that made her bite her lip and try not to say anything in return.

That wasn’t flirty; that was downright rude of him, even if he was probably trying to make her feel better.  As she watched, his brother grinned at her and handed her his last weapon, a throwing axe.  Fíli had an easy, teasing smile on his face, and it took her a moment to realize Kíli had just been teasing her.

She hadn’t been teased since she was fifteen years old.

_Do not mishandle their weapons.  It is a show of trust for a Dwarf to gift you with their weapons at all, and to mishandle them shows that you do not value that trust._

It was the first lesson she had learned from that book of hers, and she was thankful she had.  Without it, she might have unintentionally insulted someone.

Kíli lifted his foot to wipe it on her mother’s glory box, and Bramble fixed him with a look that her grandmother Took would have used “I’ll thank you to use the door mat,” she said warningly.

“Oh-right,” Kíli flushed “I’m sorry, Master Baggins-our mother has a box like this for us to wipe our feet on at home, and I-I suppose I just forgot.” He wiped his feet on the door mat immediately.

“That’s alright; just try not to do it again,” said Bramble with a smile.

Fíli did the same as his brother, minus the apology and attempt to wipe his feet on the glory box, and headed into the kitchen.  She shut the door and took a deep breath, trying to relax.  She was not usually this prone to scolding people.  Trying to focus through the songs was difficult, and she hadn’t done it in years; that was probably why she was being harsh, at least by Baggins standards. 

It took her only a little while to set up a small table, with the smaller, lighter weapons on top, and the heavier weapons beneath.  She added a sign to the table, which read _Heavy beneath, light on top.  Please do not break the table!_

When she arrived in the kitchen, the Dwarves were at the stovetop already, finishing carrying out what she had already prepared.  They were inspecting the roast-or, at least, Kíli was, and Fíli looked about ready to steal a piece of the meat, even though it wasn’t done.

“Alright,” said Bramble “Fíli, Kíli-wash your hands, please.” Both of them quickly turned to do as she swatted Dwalin’s hand “That’s dessert, Master Dwalin.”

The Dwarf looked sheepish, or at least he sounded apologetic, so she didn’t scold him too harshly.  Fíli peered at the simmering stew after he’d finished with his hands.

“Is it done yet?” Kíli asked with a grin, making Bramble smirk a little.  He sounded just like her uncle Fortinbras “The roast smells good.”

“I’ll bring the rest of the dishes out in a moment,” Bramble said with a smile “Now, drinks.  I’ll not have a drunken feast destroying my home,” she warned “But I do have alcohol to offer.  Is there anyone among you that can’t hold his drink?”

“No,” said Dwalin firmly.

“We have an early start in the morning,” said Balin, and Bramble frowned a little.

A hangover wouldn’t be a good thing, then.  Kíli and Fíli both frowned, looking a little disgruntled at the idea.

Bramble scoffed “Pish,” she retorted “I know the Baggins family hangover cure.  However, Hobbit drinks tend to be very strong, as we have strong constitutions.” All four Dwarves looked insulted, but she ignored it. “I am only giving you two mugs or glasses full for a reason.  Unless you would like to end up blacking out midway through dinner?”

Fíli frowned “They’re really that strong?”

“Hobbits pride ourselves on our food and drink,” said Bramble, “That ale will knock you out if you underestimate it, and the wine is even stronger.”

The Dwarves looked disbelieving, but Bramble shooed them out of her kitchen anyway after each had requested a tankard of ale.  The rule was in place for a reason and it would be his own fault if one of them decided to break it.   She went to work immediately, heading to the back of the pantry to fill their mugs with foaming ale.  The Baggins family laid down some of the best ale and mead in the Shire, but she was not sharing her family’s mead when it had a tendency to make all of the Big Folk sick.  That would simply be poor manners.

But oh, how- _unladylike_ she was acting.  Even if she had told herself she would not lie to them, here she was, lying by omission.  Allowing them to believe her to be a male Hobbit was more due to her desire to go on the quest, but honestly, it was easier to be perceived to be male.  It was more that her personality and independence suited a young Took than the supposedly proper Baggins heiress, and she did not want to suffer the rest of the Shire discovering otherwise.

They were not Hobbits, so she did not have to act like a proper lady Hobbit to fit in with them.  Not here.

Bramble set down their tankards and another platter of food, pleased to see her own food had remained untouched, and cautioned, “Drink slowly, or you will not remember much of tonight.”

Only Dwalin and Balin seemed inclined to take her advice.  After a moment, Fíli nudged Kíli, and muttered something to him under his breath, nodding to her.

“And no fighting over food,” Bramble requested, “Please.”

Balin blinked, frowning a little in concern “Ye have had this happen before?”

Bramble smirked “Several times.  Mainly it is when a Hobbit is so drunk with the merriment he cannot control himself, and it is usually a Took or Brandybuck, but yes, it is sadly quite common for the younger Hobbits at parties to get into a few minor scuffles.  I feel it is necessary to remind guests of this fact if they bring weapons to my table.”

She grinned to herself as she worked, dancing slightly to the songs only she could hear as she prepared the rest of their meal.  They were lucky she’d been expecting guests, and a party of at least ten-she had made more than enough.  But then, she was a Hobbit, and that was what she was expecting.  All too soon, the sounds of laughter and merriment came from her dining room, and the hostess could not be more proud of how she’d handled herself.

Even if she hadn’t started things off quite right, she was still doing a very good job if her guests were happy, and they would all go to bed with full bellies tonight.

* * *

 

About half an hour later, the roast was done, and as she set it down on the table she felt something, almost as if it were strange warmth rising in her breast.  It was the sound of many, _many_ people, all of them heading for Bag End, and she could feel the warmth starting to expand outward.  Quickly, she set the steaming roast’s pan down on the enlarged table, and hurried to the kitchen to take the stew off the open heat. 

The Dwarves she had currently seated in her dining room had, so far, been very good guests.  Very good guests indeed; Balin had even offered his help carrying items to and from the kitchen, but as hostess she couldn’t possibly have him working. 

As soon as she had pulled the stew off the stovetop and added the mushrooms, the doorbell rang.  Several times, loudly and insistently, even as the songs thundered through her breast and echoed through her mind, pushing almost all rational thought out of her mind. 

It was like a storm, and she was at the heart.  It was a storm made of all songs and music, right outside her door; while there were several harmonies, there were some discordant notes-mainly of songs clashing with each other.  Bramble tried not to wince as the bells and the fiddle seemed to clash in one moment, and then a thunderous sound, almost like a thunderclap, signaled Gandalf’s.

She sighed, and pushed herself up to head to the door, even as the bell kept ringing.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming!  There’s no need to break my doorbell!” shouted Bramble as she grew closer and closer to the storm of music, and it grew ever louder.

She was going to need some vanilla and cinnamon tea after this.  She just knew it. 

Opening the door, she stepped backward nimbly as the songs rang through her mind, and eight Dwarves fell inward from the doorframe.  Had they really all piled up on her front doorstep?  It appeared they had.  For a moment, Bramble could only blink and stare at them, confused.  How could they have all fit right there?  Surely they had not tried to force the door…had they?

Fíli’s and Kíli’s songs sharply whistled by her ear suddenly, and Bramble tried not to gasp as the thundering echoed through her head of their hammers clashing around the others’ songs right now.  Oh, Eru, they were loud.  They were _so_ loud she could barely think, let alone move much. 

She took a few deep breaths as the mass of Dwarves on the floor began to sort themselves out, and she raised her eyes as a familiar, thundering, double-timbre-filled song echoed through her mind-Gandalf.  The wizard smiled at her, his eyes twinkling mischievously at her as his song melded and wrapped around the others.  He sounded very pleased with himself, even though she was practically holding the door handle for support.

Blasted meddling wizards.  Even if he did help her focus.

The bells clanged again, this time against one another as two Dwarves helped a fairly Hobbit-sized one up from the floor, untangling themselves up.  One of them managed to get a hand loose from what remained, and was abruptly sent flying by one of the other Dwarves.

She took pity on him, and offered him a hand up, noting the odd sort of bowl-cut to his hair and the sparseness of his beard.  It was almost like Kíli’s or Fíli’s, and the moment their hands touched, his tune echoed through her mind.  And then the Dwarf raised his face and suddenly, he was not a male Dwarf at all.

It was a female Dwarf.  Her beard may have appeared sparse, but that was due to her youth, and it was a bright ginger color now that she could see the young Dwarf quite clearly, with her beard braided up and back into the rest of her hair.  It was done in such a way that it only looked like she had a sparse beard, but that was not truly the case, and the shy smile the female Dwarf offered her made Bramble smile in return.

“T-Thank you,” stammered out the Dwarf, soprano and alto chimes entering her song as it separated itself from the others more clearly as Bramble focused on her.

She could hear courage, and strength in Ori’s song, and a flute-like sound that almost made her pause.  She had never before heard the sound, but it was beautiful-so beautiful that for a brief moment, all Bramble could hear was Ori’s song. 

Then Ori took Bramble’s hand.

Abruptly, the room spun around her for a moment, and Bramble was no longer standing in her front entryway, but on a battlefield far away, with the cold stone of a tall mountain to her left, and a frozen river ahead.  Behind loomed a massive cliff.  Ori was before her on the battlefield, standing tall near the frozen mouth of a river, and she was carrying a warhammer, clad in gleaming silvery Dwarf-wrought armor.  Something dark loomed over Ori, but what, Bramble could not make out-nor could she make out the body Ori was standing over, but she felt a shiver run down her spine all the same.

As quickly as it had come, the vision faded, and Ori released her hand.

“Ori, son of Kori, at your service,” Ori said, flushing and bowing quickly.

“And Bramble Baggins, at the service of yours and your family’s,” she bowed in return.

“My thanks,” said a voice with an accent she couldn’t quite place, but when she turned, she saw a Dwarf with truly impressive muscles, and very elaborately braided silver hair smiling at her.  He bowed to her “Dori, son of Kori, at your service.”

Dori.  Ori’s brother, then, and probably older, given the way his song wrapped around Ori’s protectively.  She did not see or hear a feminine tone to his song, so that meant Dori was definitely a male Dwarf.  Surprisingly, his song was both on an instrument she could not place, and despite the refined looks this Dwarf had, it was very wild and free.  But she knew better than to judge by appearances.

“Bramble Baggins, at yours and your family’s,” said Bramble, bowing back to him politely with a smile, despite the cacophony of song around her.  She could barely hear anything she said, right now “It was no trouble, Master Dori.  Please, both of you, wipe your feet, and wash your hands before you eat.  The closest bathroom is two doors down the hall to your right, on the left.”

Dori bowed respectfully to her and moved to the table with the weapons, along with Ori.  Bramble was then approached by a Dwarf with bright ginger hair like that of his sister, braided into a tri-peak style, and with truly elaborate braids.  He had even braided his eyebrows, for Eru’s sake!  Didn’t that hurt?

“Nori, son of Kori, at your service,” his accent was thicker than his siblings’, but he was unmistakably related to them. 

Almost immediately, she could tell he would be trouble; he was a thief, if his song was correct, but an honest thief.  He would not be along on this journey if he was not trusted, but that did not mean she would trust him immediately.  But his song also spoke of something else, the longer she listened; there was a mournful tune to it, almost like the cry of the morning dove.  The last time she’d heard that type of tune in a song, it had been in her cousin Primula’s heart, but it was much less pronounced than it was in Nori’s.

So Nori was in love, and though she could tell his song was trying to weave its way together with that of the person he loved, she could not make out who it was he loved just yet.  She knew they were here, though she could not actually hear the way their song meshed with his just yet.  It seemed he was determined to keep it hidden for as long as possible.

Nori was going to be trouble, but he was also going to be fun.  She had the feeling she would grow to like this Dwarf.

“Bramble Baggins, at yours and your family’s,” said Bramble, bowing to him quickly, as her mind caught up with her mouth. “As I said the nearest bathroom is down the hall to your right, and is the second door on the left.  Please wash your hands and wipe your feet, Master Nori, _before_ entering the dining room.”

Nori smirked at her, but did as he was instructed all the same.  She was going to have to keep an eye on that Dwarf.

The next to step forward was an older Dwarf, with graying dark hair, so dark she suspected it may have been black once.  His beard was braided in on itself, though much of the rest of his hair was so bushy she couldn’t quite make out much else, and he was leaning on a walking stick.  An odd sort of silver trumpet hung around his neck, from a thick black cord, and he looked grim, though his face was still young, and she could see from here that most of his hair was tied back in a traveling braid.

His song was like the ringing of a bell, combined with the sound of bellows and a loud horn was blaring somewhere amongst all that, at infrequent intervals.  She could see from here that he was carrying a bag of herbs and medicines.

He did not step forward alone, either.  At his shoulder was a Dwarf who shared many of the same facial features, but who looked much younger, although they had similar styles of braids.  Except for their beards-the second’s beard was not thickly braided, but several parts of it were instead braided with several beads within them, and he was not wearing his hair in a traveling braid.  He was wearing armor, and there was an axe blade sticking up from near his left shoulder.  There was still age in his eyes, however, age that was unmistakable.

His song was deep as well, but it sounded almost like he was singing it, and there was a deep love intertwined with the song.  As she looked at him, listening to his song, she could hear that not only did he have a wife (or husband, as the case may be) but a child, and that these two were very close, brothers from the way they looked.  Their songs did not meld like parents’ songs did with their children.

“I am Glóin, son of Gróin,” Bramble smiled as the ginger Dwarf bowed to her “This here’s my brother, Óin.  He’s a bit hard o’ hearing.”

“What?” shouted Óin, lifting the trumpet up and putting it in his ear “I agree that the Hobbit is very endearing, but what’s that got to do with the quest?”

Bramble bit her tongue to keep from snickering, sensing that this time truly was an act to see what she would do.  Óin was not nearly so deaf as he pretended to be, but she would let him have his fun.

She bowed respectfully to him “Bramble Baggins,” she raised her voice so Óin could hear her “At your service and your family’s.  As I said to the others, please wash your hands and wipe your feet-the bathroom is two doors down on the left in the hallway to your right.”

“Aye,” replied Glóin, nudging Óin off in that direction as the next group of Dwarves stepped forward.

Or, rather, one of them did.  This was a Dwarf who was a bit shorter than the others and quite fond of his pickaxe, if she was not mistaken from what she heard in him.  The first thing she heard was a leaping, hopeful tune, coming from a flute, and the moment their eyes met she realized it was _his_ flute she was hearing.  He played an instrument.  This echoed through the deeper parts of his song, which resonated with those of the other two Dwarves in the room.

He had dark brown hair that was tied into several braids that almost stuck out from his head, and his beard’s braids also stuck out.  He had a ratty hat on his head, made all of leather, and his eyes were gentle, but old.

“Bofur, son of Borfur, at your service,” said Bofur, bowing to her with a grin on his face that echoed with the hope in his song. “This here’s my cousin, Bifur, son o’ Barfur,” he said, introducing an older Dwarf with some white in his hair, and part of an axe blade embedded in his skull. “Took an axe ta the head several years ago; he only speaks our sign language and Khuzdûl now.”

So saying, Bifur bowed to her as well, with a smile on his face.  His song was not nearly as deafening as the others’, and had a gentle sound, almost like a chorusing horn to Bofur’s.  He had clearly lost much in his life, but she could tell he still had a husband or wife and he still loved life quite dearly, even if he was a bit odd.

He was tall, yet not intimidating, and when he bowed to her she had the strangest sense that he could see her as she was, just as she saw him.  She did not see the axe blade embedded in his head, only an old scar and a faint outline, and an old, kind Dwarf with a protective streak standing before her instead. 

He said something in Khuzdûl, and Bofur stared at her, mouth open wide “I dinnae know that was possible,” he said, looking at Bifur “You’re sure?”

Bifur nodded, pointing at her with a happy look in his eyes. 

Bramble bowed back to him politely “Bramble Baggins, at your service and your family’s.  Master Bofur, is everything alright?”

“Oh, aye,” said Bofur, staring at her with surprise and amazement. “Bifur was just, eh…he likes your hair color.” Bramble blinked, surprised, and Bofur plowed on “Where’s the bathroom?”

That was the first time her hair had gotten a compliment for its color, rather than just a look and a few unkind whispers, in years.  It made her smile just a little more at these two. 

“Wipe your feet first,” Bramble said, smiling back at him. “The bathroom is down the first hallway on your right, second door on the left.  Come back the way you came and follow the smell of food to the dining room.”

Bofur nodded, and stepped aside so that the bigger Dwarf, who was easily of a size comparable to that of a Hobbit, could step forward and introduce himself.  Like Glóin, Ori, and Nori, he had ginger hair, but his hair was a more orange-ginger than the others’ hair was.   It was braided in a long, circular braid that seemed to have no ends, save for in his beard, and the rest of his hair was braided down his back in what appeared to be travel braids.  He had a round face, and a warm smile, if only a little tentative. 

His song reflected that; unlike the others’ songs, his was warm, and a little bit shy, but she could also hear that he was loyal and true.  His bells were warm and chimed with the faintest notes of another song, which meant he was married, or at least in love, and from the sound of her song, though faint, Bramble could tell the other Dwarf felt just as strongly about him. 

“I am Bombur, son of Borfur,” said Bombur, bowing low to her so she could see a bald patch on the top of his head, which was shiny as if he continued to shave it.

Briefly, she wondered what that was for; again, didn’t Dwarves value their hair?  What was the purpose of shaving part of one’s head?

“Bramble Baggins, at yours and your family’s,” said Bramble kindly “Please wipe your feet and wash your hands before settling down for dinner.  Ah-and no fighting over food, please.  I’m afraid I have seen too many gatherings destroyed by such a thing.”

“Aye,” agreed Bombur, smiling at her slowly “Might I help, Master Baggins?”

Bramble almost shook her head, and then paused “How many are there still to come?”

“Only one,” said Gandalf, startling her into nearly slamming the door on his robe.

Holding her chest, as her heart was racing, she felt the temperature in the room rise for a moment as she tried to catch her breath, “Don’t _do_ that,” she gasped, as his odd song wrapped around the whole group of Dwarves again.

As she calmed, she felt the room cool down again, and smiled at him “You may wash your hands in the kitchen if you wish for some food.  Ah-oh, bother it all,” she muttered “Wine or ale, Gandalf?”

The wizard’s eyes twinkled as the last three Dwarves walked off into the hall, joining the line of Dwarves to the bathroom. “No mead, my dear Hobbit?”

“You know perfectly well that mead is strong enough to lay out an Elf,” Bramble scoffed “I’ll not have a drunken barroom fight destroying my kitchen or my dining room.  It would simply be poor manners, and with the hangover they will have tomorrow I thought it best not to make things worse, considering we likely have an early start.”

“You are coming, then?” his expression was expectant, but hopeful.

Before she could answer, Ori returned “Erm, excuse me,” and Ori’s song immediately flooded her mind again, and her chest, too. “But what about drinks?”

“I was just coming.  Gandalf, make yourself comfortable please, as there is a Man-sized setting on the table for you,” said Bramble, following Ori into the dining room.  Almost immediately, the only sound she could hear was their songs, as all of the Dwarves turned away from their arguments to look at her. “Now,” she said, trying to focus as the haze began to descend again “Wine or ale?  You only get two servings of each-no, no, _no_ ,” she said, when they began to protest. “Hobbit ale and wine is not the same as that of Men or Elves or even Dwarves.  Hobbit ale is strong enough to knock us out.” And with drink that was no easy feat.

She paused, and smiled at them “Though we may not look like much, we Hobbits love our food and drink.  I would offer you more, and if you wish for water, we always have plain water or tea.  Drinking too much of the ale will lead to you doing things like blacking out or ending up brawling like you are in a bar.”

“Surely the lad’s jokin’,” said Glóin with a frown.

“No, I can assure you, I am not joking,” said Bramble, “Our wine is strong enough to lay out even Elves.”

“Ha, they’re sissies,” snorted Fíli, and the rest of the table roared their approval.

“Be that as it may!” shouted Bramble over the cacophony, hoping she did not get a headache “Be that as it may,” she continued “We have an early start tomorrow and Hobbit ale comes with a nasty hangover.” There was silence at the table now, “So that is why I am limiting it to two servings per Dwarf.”

“The lad’s right, this stuff’s better than ol’ Flintlock’s,” said Dwalin, raising what looked to be a half-empty tankard “And stronger, too.  Best not ta mess with it.”

“Now,” said Bramble, smiling in triumph “Ale, or wine?”

In the end, everyone ordered ale-except for Ori, who requested tea so quietly Bramble almost couldn’t hear her, and Bifur, who requested tea as well as a glass of water.

“I will have wine, thank you,” said Gandalf, and Bramble nodded, heading into the kitchen and away from the noise.

All this noise-oh, but her head was starting to hurt.  The Dwarves were kind, certainly, but they were so _loud_!  She could barely stand to talk to them.  Traveling with them would be worse, no doubt.  She took a moment to enjoy the relative respite, and then went to the pantry, wishing she could just lock the door and no longer hear their songs but it didn’t work like that.  It would never work like that, and truthfully, her home had been so empty before.

She loved how full it was now, but if only her head didn’t _hurt_ this would be so much better. 

Serving up eight mugs of ale, she returned from the pantry and immediately walked into the dining room.  Handing out the ale was easy, as the Dwarves were obviously accustomed to eating in groups, and though there was a little discord, for the most part, they harmonized with each other fairly well.  They were at least friendly with each other.  None meant any harm towards the others, even if there was wariness and mistrust because neither knew the others.

At least.  Ha.  Well, she was probably reading too much into it, but she could sense the tension between the groups.  Fíli and Kíli seemed to harmonize with everyone, but nobody else managed that.

And then the bells rang throughout the room again, and Bramble headed out of the room to the kitchen, to get Gandalf his glass of wine.  The wizard was waiting rather patiently, so she made sure to get him a Man-sized glass, which was fairly big for her Hobbit-sized hands, and returned. 

Gandalf smiled at her, and said what she thought was a thanks, but she couldn’t hear him over the sound of the songs.  Her head was starting to ache, even if she loved this group; she tried to smile and excused herself as soon as she could, to the kitchen to work. 

In the intervals between adding an ingredient to some of her stewpots, or checking the pies and pastries baking in the oven, she ate her own dinner, snacking on different ingredients and some of the pie dough cookies she’d made earlier.  When she was finished, she threw out the remains and continued cooking, whistling to herself.

It was a slow song, one her mother had taught her to use whenever she had been overwhelmed, helping her ground herself, but this time it was much harder than before to push back the other songs.  Still, she continued to whistle, slowly transitioning to humming, and when that didn’t work, she resorted to her last skill.  Singing.

She kept her song quiet, so the Dwarves couldn’t make it out over their own noise, because she had no desire for them to stare at her like all others did when they heard her sing.  Or after.  Bramble felt the pulsing in her head fading now, as she continued singing, letting her voice rise a little at the chorus of the song before fading again as she pulled the pastries out of the oven.

She could do this.  Bag End was fuller than it had been in years, and she loved it.  The house was alive, and threading through the background, behind and above the din of the Dwarvish songs filling her ears, she could hear it starting to sing again. 

If only she could have a little respite from hearing them all the time, she would find this so much easier to deal with.  But perhaps that, too, would get better with time.  She quietly brewed herself a cup of tea along with Ori and Bifur, and settled down to wait as the water boiled.

She just had to be patient.  Something she hadn’t ever had much skill with in the first place, but she could learn.

The teapot whistled, startling her out of her thoughts and the songs starting to invade them again, and she poured three mugs of tea, leaving the last in the kitchen for herself as she walked back to the dining room, to face the music head-on again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) I intend this to be like a metronome except slower (and deeper, obviously), just smooth and even. It's very good for timing.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Khazad-Dûm-The ancient Dwarven city that is now called Moria. In the movie, Gandalf also calls it Dwarrowdelf, and it literally means 'Mansion of the Dwarrow/Dwarves.' At one point, it was a prosperous city, before the Balrog was awoken by Dwarrow delving for precious metals and stones, specifically mithril (true-silver; very rare, very powerful armor that is as hard as a dragon's scales and as light as a feather). 
> 
> I know Bramble is using 'Dwarves' when referring to them, but that's because she hasn't been corrected yet. It's how everyone else refers to them. Once she becomes close friends with the Dwarrow, and reads all of the Sindarin portion of her book, she will switch to using Dwarrow. This is an intentional mistake, since we are experiencing things from Bramble's perspective.


	3. The Leader of the Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter: A few songs are sung, Thorin meets Bramble, there is a cultural misunderstanding, and Bramble nearly passes out a few times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really, really sorry it took me this long to get this chapter done. I know I promised that it would be up two weeks ago, but I had finals and other assignments due, and 3 of them in one day all in a row, and then I had to move out because my lease ended. At least I got a week off to study for finals first.
> 
> With that, enjoy the chapter!
> 
> Note (as of 05/29/15): So, I've noticed several errors in this, since I got back from vacation, and they've bugged me enough that I'm fixing it. Thank you for your lovely comments and kudos (they make my day :)).  
> Apologies to anyone who was super-irritated or put off by my mistakes; apparently I deleted a few sentences while editing this (right before posting) that I forgot to put back in. They're fixed now.

**Chapter Three: The Leader of the Company**

 

* * *

 

Bramble stood at the edge of the dining room, letting the music brush against her as the Dwarves feasted, but trying not to let it run through her as it had earlier. She had been standing there with her cup of tea for a solid twenty minutes, braving the music that she would have to suffer through for the rest of the journey.  She intended to go on this quest, and that meant she had to get used to this racket. But even twenty minutes was hard to take.

She dared not think how several hours spent in their company would be, nor how she would get away from them to ask for a few moments of peace and quiet. And then she smelled something coming from down the hallway and started to swear quietly under her breath, going to investigate as far as the bathroom door. She stopped short at the absolute-no. There would be no safety found in that room for a very long time.

Though it was _rude_ to listen so closely to their songs, with the way the Dwarves were presenting them to her she couldn’t avoid it.  She was listening, but not humming, which would be even more intrusive.  Their laughter resonated through their songs, in a way that made her dizzy, discordant and harmonious at once, and she had to lean heavily on the wall every time they laughed.

It was so hard to ignore the discordance, even though it lessened a bit the longer they stayed in each other’s company.  The deep, bell like sounds chimed again, melding the songs together in a way that she felt deep in her chest, warming her insides like a fire.

Her breath caught on one of the notes, which pierced through the rest of the songs, but was part of none of them.  It was almost like a fifteenth song, and carried with it this odd buzzing, itching sensation just under her skin.  Curious, Bramble moved quietly along the wall towards the source of the sound, her entryway.

She had set aside food for the fifteenth member of the company earlier, assuming that Gandalf was not the last after he arrived.  He had been glancing in the direction of her entryway all evening, and seemed impatient for someone.  However, even if they were here, they remained outside.

An echo of deep, piercing bells came from beyond the door, as Bramble tiptoed to the window that her father had had installed several years ago. It was a cleverly hidden window next to the door, built solely for the purpose of keeping an eye on the nosy neighbors, because Bungo did not like unannounced guests to come marching up to his door. Before she could see more than a shadow out in the garden, Ori’s song announced with a soft trill that the young Dwarf was behind her.

Unable to help herself, Bramble froze, feeling like she’d been caught. She tried not to show it, but she wasn’t sure that she’d been successful.

“Excuse me,” Ori’s voice echoed through her song “But what should I do with my plate?”

Ori was so _polite_ , too, unlike the rest of the Dwarves currently demolishing their dinner. Bramble turned around and smiled at her, about to tell the young Dwarf before Fíli’s song whistled past her and he exited the dining room.

“Here you go, Ori, give it to me,” said Fíli, putting out his hand with a halfway-flirtatious smile.

Ori flushed a little, looking awkwardly at Bramble instead, as her song resonated gently against Fíli’s.  It reminded her of her uncle Fort and his wife Adelaide’s songs; they were beautiful and gentle together.  Bramble barely caught herself before she started smiling.

So Ori was attracted to Fíli.  The Dwarf didn’t seem aware of her feelings, but then that wasn’t much of a surprise to Bramble, because most lads were fairly oblivious, even the adults. There was a reason half the time women were the ones proposing instead of being proposed _to_ in the Shire, after all. Being unmarried with no partner, however, was very odd.

Fíli smiled a little wider at Ori, and gestured for the Dwarf to throw it. Ori tossed it without thinking, her aim a little wide before Bramble could protest, and the Dwarf caught it on his elbow, flipping it up over his head into his outstretched hand. How…how _dare_ he, did he even _know_ how old that china was?!  That was not in any way, shape or form acceptable behavior for a guest!  Surely not all Dwarves were this rude?

Bramble opened her mouth to protest, but Kíli called “Fee, catch!” from behind her, and moments later, a dish had flown over her head.

“Ex-excuse me!” shouted Bramble, before she shut her mouth.

Proper Hobbit ladies did not yell at their guests, no matter what they did. But oh, she was tempted to, seeing the lack of care they had for her dishes, which were a wedding gift to her mother. Then she heard a sound that made her cringe.  It was the sound of someone having a sword fight with her knives.  Urgh, did these Dwarves have _any_ concept of manners?!

“Can you not do that?” she found herself shouting without thinking, the buzz under her skin growing into something like an uncomfortable itch. “You’ll _blunt_ them!”  

“Hear that, lads?” called the one she was certain was Bofur, with the mischievous note in his song “He says we’ll _blunt the knives_.”

Then there was a thumping sound, possibly their boots hitting the floor to keep time. The knives were crossed again, but not in that terrible, almost-screeching way that she so hated, and the songs were harmonizing.  They were threading together, somehow, the discordance between them fading until it was almost gone, and then she heard the sound of someone playing a flute.  No, two flutes.

No. _No_. She had not been in the middle of anything like this before, not even bar songs at the Green Dragon. And certainly not because of guests!

And then, Kíli started singing.  Oh, no. This was _not_ acceptable behavior, no matter what they were trying to do with it.

“Blunt the knives, bend the forks,” his voice rose in time with his own music, creating a form of-musical ensemble, and Bramble found herself listening, her irritation momentarily forgotten.

“Smash the bottles and burn the corks,” picked up Fíli from behind her as more dishes were thrown over her head.

“Chip the glasses and crack the plates-that’s what Bramble Baggins hates!” she could tell they were laughing, but it…it wasn’t _proper_ or kind or in any way acceptable!

The way they were playing with her, it wasn’t just poor behavior; it was abominable!  No guest was supposed to act this way, but she could still hear their songs, feeling them resonating against her skin and trying to warm her.  But even so, it was still rather rude!

“Cut the cloth, trail the fat, leave the bones on the bedroom mat,” sang the Dwarves, and oh, Eru, were they _teasing_ her? “Pour the milk on the pantry floor,” another pause “Splash the wine on every door!”

They were _teasing_ her, just like-like that _cow_ Lobelia did! She hadn’t done anything to deserve this, not from them-she’d been a good host, too.  This wasn’t gentle at all.  This was just plain disrespect and she hated it!  It wasn’t spiteful, but they could have at least taken her wishes into account before they decided to do some of these things, like maybe asked, or made sure they were not tossing around priceless pottery!

Bramble just stared, mouth open as the Dwarves continued sliding dirty dishes along the length of the table and tossing them through into the kitchen. She was caught between shock and anger, though the anger was slowly beginning to win.

“Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl, pound them up with a thumping pole,” chorused the Dwarves happily, increasing her ire “when you’re finished, if they are whole, send them down the hall to roll!”

Then the music took over, lifting her spirits, and making her even more irritated. If she were any less of a proper hostess, if she were not so much of a Baggins, she would probably _want_ to dance to this. That more than anything else upset her, because they were clearly ignoring everything she wanted, and so were her instincts; firmly ignoring her Took desires, she fought the urge to snarl at one of them. Subconsciously, she began tapping out a rhythm to the song, staring at the Dwarves who were making such a mess of her kitchen and things.

These things were not _mathoms_ , and she would like them to quit playing with the pottery as if it _were_ just _mathoms_. But she still had to remain a proper hostess; she wasn’t supposed to laugh at disrespect, after all. She was a Baggins, not a Took, and she had to define herself again.  Find her space, preferably before she did something stupid.

Her head was also starting to pound as the piercing bell sound echoed the rhythm of the songs inside, in a way that was probably very unladylike. She bit her lip, struggling to keep a rein on her anger before the Shire responded. 

She only hoped the last member of their Company would be able to restore order.

However, when the song ended, Bramble’s anger was brought up short. She found herself staring at the pile of clean dishes on the table, and all of a sudden they weren’t pushing in nearly as loudly with their music, taking some of the pressure off of her. Every member of the Company present was grinning or smiling at her, although Dori was smiling sheepishly, and Ori was staring at the table, her cheeks flushed and red and her song embarrassed.

Good, at least those two seemed to have manners, unlike the rest of these Dwarves. _  
_

Bramble felt her breath leave her in a sigh; she was still insulted, but if it had been in good fun she could forgive some of it.  They-they probably didn’t know what an insult that would be in Hobbit culture, and Gandalf, who did know, was chuckling quietly into his Man-sized teacup.  The wizard met her eyes with a twinkle in his eyes and Bramble glowered at him.

Curiously, the songs were less of a raucous cacophony of noise than they had been before, but the dissonance was slowly returning.  She felt herself smiling a little against her will; they had tossed around priceless crockery, and generally ignored her, but they _had_ done the dishes for her, even the serving platters.

And then she felt it, and heard it, echoing through the songs already present in the kitchen, again.  It was a deep song, but there was this-this quality to it that she simply could not place, which shivered across her skin, and the strength present also spoke of a great loss.  A greater loss than any she had yet to hear in any of the Dwarves present in her kitchen. The itch returned, stronger than before, and Bramble almost glowered at the door.

Three knocks at the door, heavily, enhanced the buzzing sound, which was beginning to wrap itself around her.  It was uncomfortable, and she wasn’t quite sure she liked how it felt.

“He’s _here_ ,” breathed Gandalf, and every one of the Company froze, turning to look at the door as one.

Splendid. Perfect.  That meant she had another (rude) Dwarf to deal with, and if he was as disrespectful as his fellows she might actually do something rash and more Tookish than usual.  Bramble turned to the door, her smile faltering a little, and walked toward it. She heard it now, the sound of-it was faint, but she was certain it was the sound of a harp.  Almost like the Shire, but better, leaping and falling like water falling over rocks in the stream, but with the sound of a hammer, and the ringing of metal-no, the _singing_ of metal.

Bramble opened the door, not sure of what she would see, and almost stopped cold.

Standing on the other side was a very tall, broad-shouldered Dwarf, clad in a silvery-blue fur traveling coat and carrying at least one or two weapons. His long raven-black hair was wavy and thick, cascading over his shoulders with a few braids falling down around his face.  Unlike the others, his beard was short, though he was at least of an age with Dwalin, and his song was filled with piercing sorrow, but also hope.  The moment her eyes met his, which were a stark, brilliant blue, fire bloomed around his body like a corona, licking at the edges of an unseen crown. She had never seen its like. In that one moment, his song almost overpowered that of the other Dwarves present in her smial.

She steadied herself on the door as the rich, deep bells and a song of starlight thundered through her chest, dizzying her and blurring her vision for a moment, and tried to focus on him as the brilliant corona was replaced by a somewhat muted blue glow.  Warmth in her chest answered the song, and she felt her face heating a little, even if she didn’t know why.  She glanced back at him as he stepped inside, hoping he hadn’t noticed her sudden dizziness, but he was focused on a point behind her-and then she heard the wizard’s song, producing a few discordant notes with his song and taking some of the pressure and sound away.

To her surprise, the Dwarf’s expression became apologetic, though he looked a little sheepish all the same.  He couldn’t know what he was interrupting, though, could he? Unless he had waited for them to stop singing and cleaning up; whatever would he do that for?

“This place is not easy to find in the dark,” said the stranger, and his voice sent a strange shiver down her spine, deep as it was.  It echoed with the tones of his song, unlike the others’, even Gandalf’s. “I lost my way, twice.”

She heard the lie immediately, but kept her mouth shut. He had to have a reason, didn’t he? Stepping back from the door, she let him walk inside, noting with a little worry that he absolutely towered over her. He was almost as tall as his nephew Kíli, but his presence made him seem much, much taller, as did his song.

And what _was_ that corona that had flared around his figure, just now?  She had never seen the like on anyone before now, and it only served to add to the mystery of whoever this was. 

“Ah yes,” said Gandalf “Bramble, might I introduce the last member of our company,” said Gandalf, and the Dwarf’s eyes landed on her. Bramble met them firmly, trying to ignore the humming beneath her skin and the way he looked at her, with an extremely strange expression in his eyes. “Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór.”

His song resonated through her chest just then, booming and almost overwhelming as she released the door, immediately regretting that decision. The world spun for a moment, but she kept her eyes fixed on him, because oddly enough, he was the only thing not spinning.  He was still looking at her, as if trying to-was he sizing her up?

“So,” said the Dwarf as he stepped inside, and Bramble took a step back “This is the burglar.” There was this odd smile on his face, and she swore he sounded amused, rather than derisive, but she couldn’t read his eyes or pick out the emotions in his song.  It was too complex, and too much like a puzzle.  The Dwarf snorted “He looks more like a _grocer_ than a burglar.”

Granted, Bramble was trying to pass for a male, but it still stung to be called a _grocer_ , especially as if it were an insult to be one.  She had hoped that the last member of the Company was actually capable of displaying what the Tooks called manners, but apparently not.  She had nothing but respect for grocers, as it was a good and honorable profession among Hobbits, and so not only was this Dwarf insulting her, but in one breath he had also insulted her way of life.  The Dwarves’ laughter was the icing on the cake, and something very much like fire rose in her breast now.

All pretense of being a Baggins vanished as Bramble focused on keeping the house in one piece, the Shire’s song roaring in her ears, dimming the sounds of the Dwarves’ songs to all but nothing. 

“Excuse me?” Bramble asked, her voice cutting through the sound of laughter like a blade, sharper than diamond.  Every eye turned to land on her, as Thorin met her eyes again, and she held her ground. “You call me a _grocer_?” she smirked, “You seek to insult me with an honorable profession? It’s far better to be a grocer than to be a rude, directionally challenged king.”

The silence was heavy around them as Thorin actually took a step back, his eyes blazing a silent challenge, but wariness echoed through his song.. She was pleased to note that their songs had quieted, but there was this singing sound of disbelief and shock in them, and she took a moment to enjoy the silence as the Shire’s song retreated. Almost as if it was satisfied with her choice of words.

Bramble continued “You lot have no manners, except for perhaps Masters Ori and Dori,” she said quietly, “You come in here,” her voice raised “Expecting a meal, and then treat my family’s heirlooms like they are worth less than the dirt beneath your feet.  I was willing to overlook that, as my people are very private and our ways are not known to outsiders.  But then you walk in and you insult my kin and me in one sentence. Then, after you have insulted me, my family, _and_ my entire race, you proceed to expect me to be ready and willing to help you.  Tell me, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, why I shouldn’t just escort you _politely_ to the edge of the Shire and tell you to be on your way tonight with your Company.”

Dead silence fell in the room, at least verbally, though their songs were somewhat muted.  Almost immediately, Bramble regretted opening her mouth; she had a Tookish temper even at the best of times, and this bloody Company had just pushed her too far. It certainly wasn’t helping that she hated being dizzy.

Ori’s song trilled an apology almost immediately, and then so did Dori’s, but she could barely hear it over the deepening sounds of Thorin’s song, which had to be embarrassment.  To her astonishment, the Dwarf’s cheeks were lightly red, and he bowed to her after a moment.

“My apologies, Master Baggins,” said Thorin, “I was not here for what my kin did, but I meant no insult to you and yours.” She could tell he didn’t quite mean that, but there was a note in his song that she couldn’t place, and it was not the sound of a lie.

“I am sorry,” the next voice to speak up was Dori, bowing from the waist “for the perceived disrespect, Master Baggins.” He was followed by Ori and Nori.

Dori’s apology set the precedent, as one by one each of the Dwarves apologized in turn.  Bramble felt her nerves settle down a little afterward, but the songs grew loud again the moment they’d all finished, melding with Thorin’s at opportune moments, and at odds with it at others. Assuring them that nothing was wrong, and even laughing at Fíli’s and Kíli’s apology (for they stumbled over their words again), Bramble made her escape to the kitchen as quickly as she could, as Thorin took a seat at the head of the table they’d set up.

She brought him the meal fairly quickly, seeking to spend as little time in the same room as the Dwarves as possible after losing her temper with them. Best for all involved to just forget what had happened. Thorin glanced up at her, this time with an expression she couldn’t read. 

“My thanks, Master Baggins,” his voice was low, and the itch was almost unbearable, but she smiled and nodded.

“No need to thank me, Master Oakenshield.  Hobbits are known for our hospitality,” she noted the confusion that followed, and quickly explained “Guests will always be treated well, as long as they are respectful.  And sometimes, if the host is willing, if they’re not.  Would you like wine or ale?  I would recommend only two servings of whichever you choose, else you will have a very bad morning tomorrow.”

Thorin frowned, thick brows furrowing together as he spoke, his voice almost like rolling thunder “Ale, then.”

Bramble headed back into the kitchen, filling his mug to the brim with ale and taking her time.  As she filled his mug, she heard them speaking, dimly, but the music was so loud that she couldn’t make out what they were saying.  The general tone of their songs rang with disappointment and anger however, so she could guess Thorin’s task had somehow disappointed them.

It was only when she was in the doorway that she heard it “Or do we take _back_ the home that was so wrongly stolen from us?!” and realized what was going on.

It was the goal of the Company, and she had just missed what the quest was about.

One of the Dwarves shouted “ _Du Bekar_!” resulting in several yells and battle cries, and the songs grew even louder, making Bramble bite her lip, her eyes watering as her head began to pound.

It was so strong, almost overwhelmingly so; she couldn’t imagine living in such close proximity to all of them.  Could she do this?  She thought she’d wanted to, but if she had to deal with _this_ every day, then she wasn’t sure she wanted to, or that she could do it in the first place.

“ _Atkât_!” Thorin’s voice cut through the din and his song did the same, with a few high-pitched sounds that reminded her of a bird’s song. “Balin.  Is the contract ready?”

Balin’s song rung faintly with embarrassment as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded sheaf of papers.  He handed it to Bramble with a nod and a slight smile, but that might have been nothing important all the same.  The moment her fingers touched the paper, it happened again.

_Bramble was standing on a hill at a set of massive, black gates with magnificent spires rising to the heavens. In one hand, there was a black-edged red flame, and in the other there rested a strangely glowing blue blade. She was in a dark place, and couldn’t see much around her, except for the long shadows looming around her, cast by the light, behind her.  The light was blue, like the light from her sword.  Distantly, she heard someone calling her name._

_Bramble turned to see who was calling for her-_

And then it was gone, as quickly as it had come.  The Hobbit quickly retreated out of the room, still holding the contract, and into the kitchen for some more tea to settle her nerves. Truly, she had been expecting Ori to trigger it, but for the parchment itself to trigger it was a surprise. Nothing inanimate and not-living had ever triggered her before, so why now?

The songs chimed again, discordant notes ringing through her head and thundering through her chest as Bramble tried to focus.  Really, she could do without them right now; she was trying to read a contract, for Eru’s sake.  Another dizzy spell descended on her as she tried to focus on the words on the page. How had she lasted this long?

For that matter, why was she being triggered now, of all times? What was it about this journey that was so important to her future?  Why was she seeing all of this?  The pounding had relegated itself to somewhere above her left eye. Brilliant; she was getting one of her bad headaches, the ones that sometimes made her sick.

It wasn’t like she had no experience with the triggers, she mused to herself as she brewed the tea.  She would have preferred it didn’t happen in the main room, or around her guests, though, when she would be caught staring into nothing.  It would only contribute to her reputation as a mad Hobbit, which she’d been hoping to leave behind her on this adventure.

But with her abilities, perhaps she was mad, by their standards.

Bramble opened the contract as she blew on the tea, only for the contract to unfold and open in a way that surprised her, unfolding both to the sides and down. Most contracts in the Shire, and indeed among Elves and Men in the Took family records, were pieces of rolled parchment, not folded.  The parchment was also oiled and thick, almost as if it had been made from several sheets of what she considered ordinary parchment. 

Given that the Dwarves were traveling, it made perfect sense; this would keep it from getting damaged by anything other than fire.  Even that would have difficulty catching on such a well-cared for piece of parchment. 

Perhaps similar methods were used to create her book on Dwarvish customs?

She folded the contract up carefully with one hand, and moved to the sitting room to peruse it, sitting near the fire to see it better, as it had grown quite dark outside the smial.  The fine print made her head hurt worse than before, but she resisted the urge to rub at her forehead and kept reading.  She would not sign something she had not read through completely.

Wincing as she reached the second fold of the main parchment, she took a sip of her tea, letting her eyes relax and the contract’s words blur. The pain dulled, almost obligingly, and Bramble added some sugar to her tea to head off the headache as best she could. She could not be rid of it completely, but there was no reason to let it make her more ill than she already felt.

She frowned at a few of the paragraphs, noting aloud “Lacerations…debates?” blinking, she reread the line again, translating what she knew of legal Westron into her native tongue. “Oh.”

Then she found herself frowning again, a few paragraphs down “You must think me a fool,” said Bramble, doing her best to keep her composure despite how she felt. She wasn’t fooling Gandalf, from the way the wizard was looking at her, but the rest of them didn’t seem to be aware of the effect they were having on her. “I think this contract may have a small problem,” this she directed at Balin “For while I am perfectly happy with most of its clauses, I cannot speak a word of your language. Yet the contract clearly states that I am to carry out all disagreements and all debates about wrongdoings, and indeed if I’ve broken a law, to be tried and punished, _in Khuzdûl_.”

Balin flushed a little “Aye, well Master Baggins the contract was written when we thought we would have a Dwarf for a burglar,” he explained.

“And why am I not allowed to disagree with you if one of you is in the wrong?” inquired Bramble, resisting the urge to rub at her temples. “Correct me if I’m wrong here, but this contract expects me to act as if I am willing to go along with everything-even if one of you suggests walking up to a group of hungry Trolls and confronting them head-on.”

And as she was the only female in the party aside from Ori, who would be easily convinced to go along with foolishness unless she grew a backbone, Bramble would probably be their only voice of reason.  Ha, imagine that; mad old Bramble as the voice of reason for anyone.  Her relatives would laugh in her face if they could hear what she was thinking now.

There was a moment of embarrassed silence, and then Thorin turned to frown at Balin, saying something in Khuzdûl that was clearly scolding.  Balin flushed a little, but did not lower his gaze, though there was even more discordance and it echoed around her, making her head worse than before.  Oh, bother and confusticate these Dwarves.

“Are there any other problems with the contract, Master Baggins?” Thorin asked, sounding a little disgruntled, though perhaps it was more that he was trying to avoid offending her again.

“Not that I’ve found yet,” said Bramble, staring at the contract. Still, she heard something shiver through his song, and it went through her chest, the itch under her skin almost _hot_ now. “Evisceration? An-interesting choice of words.”

“Oh, aye,” Bofur spoke up cheerfully “He’ll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye.”

Bramble bit back the urge to laugh somewhat hysterically, and kept reading. “Fourteenth of the treasure-why on Arda would I need a fourteenth?” muttered the Hobbit to herself.

And then it hit her, what Bofur had said, and the ramifications of it all. She had picked up the general gist of their adventure, from the contract, and the contract _did_ specifically state Smaug’s name several times.  If she was going on this adventure, there was a very real chance that she wouldn’t return alive, if she returned at all. Something very much like a vice grip closed around her lungs, and made her head pound all the worse as she tried to calm down.  The songs were really a problem; semi-harmonious or not, they still hurt.  Bramble took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself, and was distantly aware of someone asking her something. She continued staring at the contract blankly, unable to answer.

What she had seen was a warning.  Both times, she had been warned.  But this was the strongest she’d ever been-strongest _it_ had ever been around strangers.  Oh, Eru Ilúvatar, what was she thinking even considering going on a journey with them?!

“Think furnace,” oh, Bofur might have been honest, but he was really not helping her head. His voice was making his song loud, and it was clashing against Thorin’s in a way that did not bode well for the Dwarf. “With wings.”

“Y-yeah,” she was aware her voice sounded a little breathy, but she needed a moment and she was really trying not to let on how dizzy she was. The lack of air was not helping. “I-I-I know.”

“Flash of light, searing pain,” yes, _thank_ you Bofur, “then poof-you’re nothing more than a pile of ash!”

Her throat almost closed up then and there, but it was followed by a gentle tremor beneath the house.  She couldn’t do this. She wouldn’t be able to do this. The Shire’s song echoed through her mind, and though it hurt, it gave her something to hold onto, something familiar, and she closed her eyes, holding onto it as tightly as she could in her armchair. The contract fluttered to the floor, and Bramble exhaled slowly for a good, long moment, trying to get control of her panic.

She couldn’t.  She couldn’t do it. She had to stay in the Shire, stay where it was safe, where she was just another Hobbit in the community. She absolutely had to. She couldn’t just-she couldn’t. She _couldn’t do it_. 

The Shire was gentle, humming a soft melody against her skin as the itching sensation eased a bit.  Oh, she would miss this.  She was going to face certain death but…but…oh, no, she couldn’t.  She couldn’t.

But she could, and she had to, because she couldn’t stay here. Bramble knew she could; just as her mother had left she would too.  And she had to.  The second tremor was felt by the whole house, and Bramble bit back a curse when she realized what had happened. She should have just passed out. She opened her eyes, and pressed her hand against the wall behind her, taking another deep breath as the tremors stopped.

All of the Dwarves were looking around, tensed and ready for a fight.  Their songs were filled with confusion and wariness, but no fear.  At least, not yet, Bramble amended silently.

“My dear Hobbit,” said Gandalf, kneeling down next to her “Are you quite alright?”

“I will be,” said Bramble, taking another deep breath.  She had to be more careful; she had almost ended her chance of going with them just now. “I will be, Gandalf.”

“What was that?” Fíli asked softly, so quiet she almost couldn’t hear him over his song.  But she saw his mouth moving, forming the syllables in Westron all the same. “That-that…”

Bramble frowned “What?” best to pretend to ignorance, as her mother had taught her.  She didn’t dare tell them what it was.

“The ground just shook,” said Bofur with a frown, glancing at Bifur, who had an odd smile on his face. “Bif?”  Bramble swallowed, their songs pressing in on her as her head pounded in time with her heart.

There was no answer, except for a shake of his head.  Bofur gave her an odd look, as did Bombur, but neither of them said anything more.  Brilliant; how was she supposed to salvage this now?

The Dwarves turned after a little while, back to talking amongst themselves, while Balin approached Bramble.  She returned her attention to the contract, bending over to pick it up as she finished the last few paragraphs.  It seemed a bit excessive, didn’t it?

“Lad?” she barely heard him, and would not have had his gong-like bell not resounded with his voice. “Master Baggins?  Have you finished with the contract?”

“Aye,” Bramble cleared her throat, hating how shaky her voice sounded. “Aye, but I have one more problem with it.” Balin raised an eyebrow “What in the world am I to do with a fourteenth of the treasure?”

“It is payment,” said Balin with a frown, looking more than a little confused.

Bramble was torn between laughing and crying.  She wasn’t sure she wanted to leave, but she knew she didn’t belong in the Shire.  She could stay, and be reminded of that fact every day, or she could leave with them. Payment would definitely be practical in this situation, but she knew what they were after, and she didn’t need it. Not really.  

But payment for what, exactly? _  
_

They didn’t know, and they couldn’t.  She was wealthy enough by the standards of Elves, Men, and Dwarves, given the _mathoms_ her family had collected over the years, and she could use those if need be.  But she might offend them if she did not accept it; according to Celebrimbor, debts were very important to Dwarves, and they had to be repaid. Though he called them Dwarrow, and not Dwarves.  She would have to ask about that.

Deciding not to argue with Balin, she nodded.

“I will correct the passages you mentioned,” Balin offered, “As you are clearly not a Dwarf, they make little sense, Master Baggins.”

“Alright,” Bramble agreed, still feeling a little ill, and handing over the contract.

“Do we need to correct the payment, Master Baggins?  Balin inquired “Is it not enough?”

“It-it’s enough,” Bramble stuttered “I just don’t know how I’m going to get it all home,” she offered him a weak smile.  “I-I’m just a Hobbit, how am I supposed to get it here from the Lonely Mountain?”

“Erebor,” Balin corrected quietly, as the rest of them were speaking amongst themselves and hadn’t heard her. “It is only the Lonely Mountain to the rest of the world,” he explained “And ‘tis an insult to our leader.”

“My apologies then,” Bramble almost gave in to the urge to rub her temples this time, trying not to wince again.  She picked up her teacup, steadying it with her hand and taking a long sip of her lukewarm, sugary drink.  It might have been disgusting but it would help, “I erred out of ignorance, not a desire to offend.”

“I understand that,” Balin replied, nodding, “And thank you for your apology and respect.” Bramble smiled a little more “I noticed you left your book,” he said, offering it to her.

She had completely forgotten about it in light of the songs and the dinner, leaving it by the door.  Bramble accepted it with a grateful smile, nodding to him as she picked it up, half-expecting another trigger.  However, nothing happened and she managed to swallow the rest of the tea.

Balin even had a pen with him, which made going to her study a redundant idea.  Bramble handed it back to him and he took it to the small table next to her, writing out the corrections as the rest of the Dwarves filed into the room.  Balin took what seemed like moments to pull out another slip of the same parchment and bind it to the contract.  He appeared to have done this before.

At some point, she really would have to have a conversation with him about exactly how he had created that parchment.  It would be terribly convenient to write a book using only that parchment for the final copy, for it would avoid wear, tear and other problems. It would last her a very long time.

The rest of the Dwarves conversed in the next room, while Gandalf sat in the only Man-sized chair.  Gandalf pulled out his pipe, adding a pinch of Old Toby from the guests’ dish to the end of it with a wink in her direction.  He then set the tips of his fingers on fire, and Bramble gaped, trying not to gasp at the sight.  Gandalf lit his pipe using his fingertips, and then just as quickly blew them out, puffing on the end of it.

It really did look rather odd to see an Elf smoke anything, let alone pipe-weed.

“My dear Hobbit,” said Gandalf “Are you alright?” he inquired quietly “You look a bit pale.”

“I’m-fine,” Bramble managed, almost swallowing her tongue, and she took another drink of tea, shuddering at the flavor. “That is disgusting,” she said, frowning at it, before continuing “Yes, Gandalf.  I am quite alright, really, just-it’s been a long day,” she gave him an apologetic smile, “I am simply feeling its effects.”

Gandalf didn’t look like he believed her “You are sure?”

“Very sure,” said Bramble, though she knew he wanted more out of her than that. She wasn’t about to give him more, though “I have a slight headache, but that is why I am drinking this,” she raised the nastily sweet tea “So it should be gone soon.”

It was not going away.  She was going to need to drink her athelas blend, and bring plenty of it on the trip with her. Luckily, she had more than enough athelas to spare for this and for injuries, provided that Óin didn’t already have enough.  Her garden was full of it, and its song was a gentle comfort on bad days.

Gandalf nodded, though he did not look very convinced “Very well then. Are you sure there is nothing you would like to tell me?” he asked gently, sounding at once like the Elf he appeared to be and like a grandfather.

She knew what he was trying to do, though, and she wasn’t falling for it. Bramble hid a scowl by raising her cup.

“Quite sure, my dear Gandalf,” said Bramble with a smile, glancing at the doorway.  They seemed quite content with their food, and she leant in to ask “Erebor, Gandalf? Why did you volunteer me for this? What do they expect from me?” in a furious whisper.

"Why, you are to be their burglar, of course," said Gandalf, his eyes twinkling, "Or did you not read that part of the contract?"

Her head spun as she considered the lines of the contract again.  They had all blurred together in places, with her headache, and it was so difficult to focus on anything around these confounded Dwarves that she might as well just give up now.  Now her payment made more sense, at least.

"But why  _me_ , Gandalf?" whispered Bramble furiously "You know full well that I am not a burglar!"

Gandalf’s eyes no longer twinkled, now “But you are, Bramble. Or are you not the same young Hobbit who succeeded in stealing my staff all those years ago?" Bramble flushed, shaking her head and burying her head in her hands. "You are particularly adept at walking unseen as well."

She had also stolen a few things back from Lobelia, but that was nothing compared to stealing from a dragon!  She would be roasted alive in an instant, and that was if the nasty, fire-drake's song even let her get near it!

“All of us are,” protested Bramble as quietly as she could, only aware of her words as they left her mouth and vibrated in her throat “You could have chosen someone else.”

“But no one else is your mother's child, and no one else has the skills you do,” his eyes twinkled at her again, and Bramble paused, fearing what he knew. “You are quite unique, among your kin.  I feel you are the only one who _can_ do this, Bramble."

Bramble swallowed “Facing a dragon?  You really think I can?” she didn’t feel very brave right now, “Because as much as I have…wanted to leave the Shire, ever since I was a tween, I can’t imagine facing a dragon right now."

She could barely stand around the Dwarves as it was.  Gandalf should have chosen a different Hobbit.

“You can, and you will,” said Gandalf, smiling at her “My dear Hobbit, you are far too critical of yourself.  You will make a very fine burglar, with your skills.”

Bramble sighed “I wish I had your confidence, Gandalf.  I don’t know if I can steal from a dragon.”

Even if it did get her out of the Shire.  She would at least try.

“Nonsense, my dear,” said Gandalf, smiling at her “you are the only Hobbit I know who has managed to successfully steal from a wizard.”

Bramble could tell he was being serious, even if he did have more faith in her than she thought was warranted.  She certainly didn’t think she could go up against a dragon, not as she was right now and not without a lot of help.  Even faith could only take one so far, but she was at least forewarned now.  Hopefully her abilities would be more of a blessing than a curse when the time came.

Bramble managed a chuckle at that “Thank you, Gandalf,” she said, managing to relax a little “That makes me feel a little better.”

They sat for a moment afterward, without speaking and Bramble trying to ignore her headache.  She found a little relief when Fíli and Kíli entered the room, shortly followed by the rest of them. Setting her book on the chair, she got up, intending to clear up Thorin’s dishes, but she was waved off by Balin.

“He’ll get his own dishes cleared away, Master Baggins,” said Balin “or one of the others will do it for him.” He walked over, in full view of the Company (minus Thorin) and handed her the contract.

She looked down at it, noting the pieces of parchment bound neatly over the paragraphs she’d taken issue with before.  Balin had done this very, _very_ neatly, and she was quite impressed with the craftsmanship.  The paragraphs were now much more reasonable, namely allowing her to argue with them and even allowing her to debate with them in Westron. She was not going to be kicked out of the Company just for disagreeing with them or offering her opinion, so that meant she was probably the voice of reason.

After rereading the contract, to be certain she had not missed anything, she accepted the pen from Balin and signed it in full view of the Company as _Bramble Baggins_ , leaving out her middle name, before she could change her mind about leaving. She hated that name anyway; why had she been named for a healing plant, of all things? 

“Welcome, Master Bramble Baggins,” said Balin, eyes twinkling at her “To the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

She noticed the Dwarves pulling out pipes, and their own pipe-weed, and had enough sense to raise her voice “I have some excellent pipe-weed, though I do not smoke myself, if you are interested.” She gestured to the bowl on top of the mantel “I would advise against more than one pinch if you are unaccustomed to Old Toby, though-it is rather strong.”

None of the Dwarves took a pinch from the mantel, aside from Bifur, who only took a small pinch.  Bifur made to move the dish so she could reach it, but Bramble shook her head; secondhand smoke was fine, but smoking pipe weed herself often produced…interesting results, so she abstained. The Dwarf only looked marginally surprised, and shrugged, adding his pipe-weed to his pipe.

Though no one spoke, the songs began pressing in around her all the same. It was nearly impossible to hear herself think, much less to consider anything seriously, and Bramble contemplated just letting them be in this room for awhile, despite it being poor host behavior. Instead, she drifted a little, uncertain of the time passing as songs grew louder and softer with the movements of the Dwarves into the room.

It was only when their songs began to meld that Bramble came back to herself, realizing that Thorin was standing not two feet from her, his bright blue aura full and bright once more.  It began with a low hum, building deep in her chest and skittering beneath her skin-and how had she _not_ noticed the Dwarf was standing so close to her?  The bells began to ring, harmonizing with each other and matching Thorin’s song, creating a ringing, even sound that thundered through her.

A feeling of longing washed over her as the bells of every song rang in unison with each other, creating an odd feeling deep within her chest. Thank Eru that she was in her armchair, else she probably would have collapsed; as it was, she sank into her armchair, dizzy from the sudden harmony.

And then Thorin began to sing.

 _“Far over the Misty Mountains cold,”_ began the song, resonating in her chest with a fierce ache and longing, so fierce it made her eyes burn. _“To dungeons deep, and caverns old,”_ and it was beautiful, though painful to hear and worse to feel.

His personal song wove into the melody he was singing, breathing life into the song in a way she had never heard before.  Not even with her parents, who had sung from the heart, or from the Elves who had passed through the woods of the Shire, on their way to the Grey Havens, had she heard such a thing, though their songs had harmonized when they sung together.

_“We must away, e’re break of day,  
To seek the pale, enchanted gold.”_

The word _gold_ surprised her, startling her out of listening as closely as she had been; she had been expecting _home_ , not gold to come from his mouth.  She stared at him, shocked and a little disappointed, before the other Dwarves’ voices rose in song with him, and the longing only grew.

“The Dwarves of yore made mighty spells,  
While hammers fell, like ringing bells,  
In places deep, where dark things sleep,  
In hollow halls, beneath the fells.”

This warmth that was gathering in her breast was dangerous, but only if she let it loose.  Bramble held onto it, feeling the songs warm her from the inside as she listened.  No simple longing for gold or jewels could bring this; not unless it was something these Dwarves desired with everything they had, and she knew that was not true.  She might have heard gold, but not even among Dwarves could gold cause this.

“For ancient king, and Elvish Lord,  
There lay a gleaming golden hoard,  
They shaped and wrought, and light they caught,  
To hide in gems on hilt of sword.”

Craft. Bramble was drifting, she realized, but she had no choice, listening to the voice of midnight and velvet leading the others on, her heart leaping in response, an ache starting under her breastbone as she listened.  The spark in her chest was not widening or becoming dangerous so she just held onto it, letting it warm her as it would. 

The feeling with which they sang of these ancient Dwarves almost made them real, living beings-and the gems and gold they carved out were not money, but priceless items. They sang of these the way she had sometimes heard the Shire sing of Hobbits, or Hobbits sing of their pride and joy, be it gardening or something else.

“On silver necklaces they strung,  
The flowering stars, on crowns they hung,  
The dragon-fire, in twisted wire,  
They meshed the light of moon and sun.”

She heard a deep longing for these days, for days that had long since passed but for the place they had lost.  The curl of Thorin’s tone around _dragon-fire_ told her everything she needed to know about what had happened. But most of all, they longed to be _able_ to create this again, to have the stability and safety and _peace_ needed for such prosperity.

And then there was a pause, with only Bofur’s flute for any who were not Bramble, listening.  In that silence, their songs melded together into a much stronger, mournful and piercing harmony, and Bramble swallowed hard.  She knew that tune far too well.  It was the same as the Elves’ harmony, when they had passed through the woods to the Grey Havens. 

“Far over the Misty Mountains Cold,  
To dungeons deep, and caverns old,  
We must away, e’re break of day,  
To claim our long-forgotten gold.”

Bramble no longer heard the word ‘gold’ to mean gold, swallowing hard against the lump that rose in her throat.  Instead, when Thorin’s song swelled with the singer, even if it was not him singing this verse, she heard _home_.  

“Goblets they carved there for themselves,  
And harps of gold where no man delves,  
There lay they long, and many a song,  
Was sung unheard by Men or Elves.”

The song might have been telling of the glories of the Dwarves, but she knew what she heard.  It gave her confidence, though, listening to them sing.  She had doubted herself, doubted what decision she had made tonight, and now she didn’t.  Because no Hobbit worth their name, worth their song, would deny them aid, not with the deep longing they had.

“The pines were roaring on the height,  
The winds were moaning in the night,  
The fire was red, it flaming spread;  
The trees like torches blazed with light.”

The pain etched its way through each of their songs, tearing through her and almost extinguishing the spark the songs had given her in the first place. Bramble caught herself on the edge of tears, imagining how Erebor’s song had screamed a warning, but none had listened. She had to do her best to ignore it, to quiet the songs, or she would start crying.

“The bells were ringing in Dale,  
The Men looked up with faces pale;  
The dragon’s ire, more fierce than fire,  
Laid low their towers and houses frail.”

She could hear the bell ringing, if she imagined it so.  Bells rang discordantly through their songs as remembered fear clutched at her heart.  She had never felt so small in her life as she did when imagining the dragon’s ire, or when the Dwarves’ songs pressed in on her, giving her their fear and their pain as it had been and was, in that moment.  The pain was deepest in Thorin, whose song was loudest, and accompanied by choking, white-hot guilt.

“The mountain smoked beneath the moon,  
The Dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom,  
They fled their hall, to die and fall,  
Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.”

Hundreds of Dwarves died that day.  Many of their people fell trying to kill the drake, gone, and she could not imagine how many the dragon had cost them. From the way Thorin’s song tore at her, she knew there were more Dwarves that died that day than lived. And his voice rose above them all as he gave voice to it.

“Far over the Misty Mountains grim,  
To dungeons deep, and caverns dim,  
We must away, e’re break of day,  
To win our harps and gold from him!”

And she would be with them.  Her heart demanded it, because it was not right.  They deserved better.  Their home was taken from them by a monster, a foul creation of Morgoth _Kinslayer_. If Gandalf thought she would be useful, then she would trust him, even if it might be a foolish decision in the future. She would steal from a dragon, and she would do it in such a way the dragon gave them _back_ their home.

Bramble managed to turn her involuntary gasp into a cough as she raised her tea to her lips, her whole body trembling.  Her head _ached_ , and her lungs burned as she coughed again, managing to get the liquid out before she had other issues. They were all staring when she looked up, but their songs were no longer tearing at her, but pressed in around her in worry instead.

“Oh-I’m so sorry,” Bramble apologized “I don’t usually inhale my tea, that was an accident.” She gave them a polite smile, silently apologizing for breaking the mood, but their songs had shifted, and that had been her goal, because her tolerance was past its limit.

She could not take any more of this without doing something rash and foolish, and the last thing she needed was to endanger her guests.

Thorin’s voice startled her, as it cut through the noise of the songs “We leave at first light,” he said to Balin, “Or as soon as we can.”

It was still loud enough for her to hear across the room.

Given that they had all but cleared out her pantry, she was going to be hard-pressed to find anything for breakfast tomorrow morning.  Reminded of her promise as a host, Bramble rose to her feet.

“If you intend to leave early tomorrow, then we should all get some rest,” Bramble really wasn’t quite sure what else to say.  Then she was reminded of the absolute mess of the bathroom, and resolved to send a message to the Thàin about getting the plumber down here to fix it. “However, I only have eight guest rooms, and there are fourteen of you. Gandalf, one of them is Man-sized, designed by my father for your use when you were visiting. You are welcome to use it, as I am certain it will be more comfortable than the rest of these rooms.”

Gandalf smiled at her, nodding in her direction as he made his way towards his room, and then she heard him pause.  Then she heard nothing of him afterward, as the songs crammed in around her again, each all but begging for her attention.

Dori declared that he would, in no uncertain terms, room with Ori. Kíli and Fíli elected to stay in the same room, and Dwalin and Nori surprisingly did the same thing. Balin would be staying with Bifur, and Óin and Glóin were together, leaving Thorin to sleep in the last available room, which was across the hall from Bramble’s and just close enough that she had to sleep with that awful humming beneath her skin.

Saying nothing of her discomfort, she bid all of them goodnight, and retreated to her room to pack, which she had not had the time to do earlier.   Packing would not take long, perhaps an hour at the most, and she did not need sleep that badly, or so she told herself.  She packed what she could while still in her room (all of it suitable for her adventure), and then quietly crept out her window into the garden, filling her pack with as many useful herbs and plants as she could carry, including athelas and a few special plants that did not grow outside the Shire, from what she knew. This done, she made her way to the storeroom at the edge of the smial, climbing in through the window again.  From this, she outfitted herself properly for her adventure, and then returned to her room via the garden. 

There was no need to let the Dwarves know how unprepared she had been for their visit.

Taking off her shirt and rinsing off her feet, Bramble set up the clever alarm system her Tookish ancestor had discovered so many years ago so that she would awaken before dawn. She was asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Khuzdûl:  
> (1) Du Bekar-Dwarven battle cry. I think the proper translation is 'to arms' but if I'm wrong, please correct me.  
> The Dwarrow say this at the beginning of every battle. 
> 
> (2) Atkât-Silence  
> Thorin says this, in the movie, to get the Dwarrow to stop yelling about Smaug and bring order back to the table.
> 
> Elvish:  
> Athelas: Kingsfoil, a plant mentioned in the Lord of the Rings series several times. It has healing powers on its own, and is used by Aragorn in the Houses of Healing (book), as well as to heal Frodo in the first part of the Lord of the Rings (book and movie) after he was stabbed by a Ringwraith. 
> 
> (Uncertain)  
> Mathoms: Useless objects that are only good for looking at. Hobbits refer to several items as mathoms if they are useless. Weapons, gems and other things fall under this category.
> 
> If there's a problem with my translation, please point it out; I'm not sure I got the 'silence' one correct. That could actually be 'shazara,' as I've seen both used and went for the one that seemed more correct (which has been used more often in Hobbit fanfiction).
> 
> Update (as of August 15th): The fourth chapter is still in progress, unfortunately. I keep getting stuck midway through scenes (and it even happened while on vacation :( ). I don't know what's wrong with it, but it just refuses to flow properly. I wish I could promise when the fourth chapter will be up, but despite my scheduling writing time for that series I am stuck in the middle of the darned SHIRE (and I've tried, believe me; at this point I'm just stuck waiting until I get a song or something stuck in my head that helps me move the story forward). I am very frustrated with it and have been letting it sit on the back burner while I worked on worldbuilding for other series and the first chapter of my Jak/OC story (for the Jak and Daxter series).
> 
> I do plan on continuing Daughter of Eä. I just can't make the story flow well and I'm not going to put up a sub-par chapter with everyone acting OOC, because that's unfair to you guys, and the whole Company seem content to sit in the Shire until I tear all my hair out. It's really starting to frustrate me because I keep trying to execute this particular sequence of scenes and failing. I've started to make some headway on the 'leaving the Shire' part of the story, so this chapter should finally be ready for editing soon, and I'll post it after I send it to my beta reader.
> 
> I am over on Fanfiction.net under the name Arashi Uzumaki-Namikaze, and since I have a profile there you can check it (if you're curious) for updates as to how much progress I've made on each story's chapters. It also has a plan for the stories I plan to write, edit and start posting by the end of 2015 but as I just found out my class load is going to be 1 semi-technical and 3 technicals this semester, that'll probably change. I am also on tumblr by the same name as on this website, and I'll start posting my update notices there too once I get moved into my new place by the end of next week.


	4. The Company Departs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Bramble and the Company (including Gandalf) finally leave the Shire. This includes bonus segments like Bramble's method of dealing with Dwarrow on the road, Dwarven baking/tea customs, and Bramble learning a bit more about her family. The scene at the end is a direct lead-in to chapter five.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my GOSH, has it been a long time since I updated this. I am REALLY sorry this happened-over the summer, I was stuck midway through the chapter and literally unable to make it flow, so I turned to other projects (the results of which are still being written). I nearly finished it near the beginning of the semester, only for me to jack up my ankle while running and then spend the next 2 months trying to figure out what I did, with a doctor's appointment every week. Thankfully it turned out to be a sprained ligament, so I'm getting better. I'm also in 3 classes that each have a problem set due per week (and each problem set takes around 10 hours to finish), so I've been pressed for time lately.
> 
> Expect more updates to come, and hopefully quicker now, because I can finally walk again, even if it's only for a little while. I'm hopeful that I will be able to get the next piece of Coming Home done by Thanksgiving, and the next chapter of this, too but that might be too optimistic.
> 
> And again, sorry for the wait!

Bramble awoke with a groan, hearing and feeling the songs of the Dwarves-or was it Dwarrow?-resonating through her chest.  The bells and hammers rung loudly enough that she knew they were awake; the cacophony was coming from the general direction of the kitchen, too.  Truly a splendid way to start the morning, what with her head already starting to pound.

Grimacing, Bramble put her pillow over her head, trying in vain to muffle the songs.

It didn’t work.  It never did, with her gift; somehow muffling outside sounds actually made the songs grow louder, and Bramble almost screamed in protest as they thundered through her head. She wanted to _sleep_ , not deal with a bunch of hungry Dwarves invading her kitchen like she had last night.

Oh, bother and confusticate it all, she _had_ promised at least some of them a hangover cure last night, hadn’t she? And there was no way she could sleep right now, not without the Shire’s song present to steady her and help lull her to sleep like it usually did.  Groaning, she pulled the pillow off her head, and rubbed at her eyes.

Her vision blurred for a second as a very loud note rang through Fíli’s and Kíli’s songs, and moments later she felt both dizzy and sick to her stomach. Bramble bit her tongue, trying to keep from rushing to the bathroom and vomiting her guts out, but it was hard when she was feeling how sick they felt _._

Those two would definitely need a hangover cure, she decided as the feeling passed, and she managed to get out of bed.  She headed for the closet, but midway there changed directions, remembering that she’d left her outfit for the day and what she needed for the morning in the bathroom instead.

It only took her fifteen minutes to get dressed, and a little longer to finish preparing herself to face them.  The songs were ringing in her ears and making her dizzy, yes, but she was a Baggins of Bag End, and she could do this.

She would do better than she had last night.  She just needed to…get used to them.  Yes, that was it.  She needed to get used to the Dwarrow being there, a constant presence in the back of her mind.  Maybe their songs would quiet then.

Bramble snorted to herself as she walked out of the bathroom and was immediately assaulted with three separate loud notes, followed by a near-debilitating wave of dizziness.  She stumbled into the wall, gasping as her vision blurred so badly that she couldn’t see, and she had to fight not to throw up yet _again_ , only this time it was much worse than with just Fíli and Kíli.

The wave of dizziness and nausea passed only moments later, leaving Bramble to peel herself off the wall and try to catch her breath before heading out.

She wasn’t even going to last through making the hangover cure at this rate. Blasted Dwarves and their confounded reasons to ignore her warnings.  She walked toward her door, and paused, waiting for the next note and dizzy spell to assail her _yet again_ , as they usually did, but when none was forthcoming she opened the door and peered out into the hallway.

There were muddy footprints.  In her hallway.

Mud. In her hallway! How dare they?! She had given them _strict_ rules last night, and they still ignored them. Though, it was possible the Dwarf that had disobeyed her rules was in desperate need of a bathroom, Bramble allowed. She could forgive them if they were busy being sick in the toilet.

Then there was a loud, booming sound that sent her reeling backwards into her room, staggering under the weight of it.  It was regal, commanding, and deep, like a low voice singing a melody _very loudly_ directly into her eardrums.  It was also accompanied by the strangest feeling; she couldn’t quite tell where the ground was, just that she felt like she was looking up at the ground, instead of down.

Distantly, she watched her feet get entangled in her bag strap, but didn’t feel herself falling, even though she had to be, with that sound in her ears. And then it was gone, and she felt her head beginning to pound as she stumbled to her knees. The pain in her knees was almost unnoticeable in comparison to the _pounding_ in her head.

It felt like a herd of Oliphaunts had trampled all over her brain.

Bloody Dwarves and their lack of a bloody alcohol tolerance! She would never let them get drunk around her ever _again_! Especially not that rude king of theirs, fumed the redhead as she untangled her feet from her bag’s straps and pulled it onto her back.

Hopefully no one _else_ made her sick this morning.

She finished by picking up her mother’s bow and sliding it into place on the pack, tying it down, and tried to find the Shire’s song. Before stepping out of the room, this time.

It was faint now, with the booming sounds of the Dwarrow’s songs and the pulsing in her head.  So faint she almost couldn’t sense it at all, but it was there, chiming in the background. The slow, waking melody of the Shire echoed in her ears, growing closer and closer the more she focused on its gentle warble.

Like last night, she tried putting it between her and the Dwarves’ songs. The Shire’s song slid between her and the Dwarrow’s songs like water between two thick stones, shielding her with only a little prompting.  The Dwarrow’s songs grew softer as the slow melody of the Shire grew louder, and the headache Thorin-she thought-was projecting her way began to fade. Bramble let out a contented sigh as the pain was reduced to a dull throbbing sensation at the back of her skull.

That was _much_ better.

This time, when Bramble stepped out of her room, she didn’t trip, fall, or find herself suffering from the effects of a hangover. Though still feeling mildly ill, she followed the rousing chorus of the songs to the kitchen, waiting for the next loud note to send her to her knees, dizzy and sick.

To her surprise, the defense worked better this time than it had last time.

She still felt mildly dizzy by the time she arrived in the kitchen, with how _loud_ everything was, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as earlier.  From the doorway, she could hear two distinct songs coming from the kitchen; these two were louder than the others in the room.  And the smells coming from the kitchen were good, which meant her kitchen didn’t need rescuing.

The Hobbit-like Dwarf with lots of ginger hair, _Bombur_ she thought his name was, was tending to something on the stove in a large pot-obviously his own.  It smelled and looked like a rich, thick stew, meant to be stored and served over bread. His song and his brother’s sang in harmony with each other, but rendered the two of them almost indistinguishable-though both of them were in the kitchen, it was hard to tell them apart. His brother, whose name she’d forgotten, was standing over something else on the oven, a flute chiming through his song.  And neither of these Dwarrow had hangovers.

Good. Some of these Dwarves actually had an alcohol tolerance.

Whatever they were making, it smelled amazing.

Though of course it was improper for them to cook like this, they couldn’t have known.  She wished she had woken earlier, to take over before now, but they were already making breakfast and to refuse them access to the kitchen _now_ would be dreadfully rude. 

Grimacing to herself, Bramble walked into the kitchen, doing her best not to lose her balance as their songs thundered through her chest.  The Shire’s song could only do so much.  She didn’t quite succeed, bumping into Bombur on her way across when she stumbled at the sound of his song, but righted herself with a quick apology and an embarrassed smile.  Bombur managed to mumble something back, but whatever it was, she couldn’t make it out over the music.

Through the haze that was starting to settle over her mind again, she managed to fill the teakettle and set it on the stovetop to boil. Her tea would help her focus, and lift some of the haze she was feeling just being around the Dwarves this morning.

Ugh, she hated this.  Usually she could function in the mornings without tea, but unless she got used to Dwarven songs that would change.  Hopefully they wouldn’t immediately count her as useless or spoilt just because their songs were so loud.  She had good reason to be tired; their songs were _exhausting_.

She tried very hard not to wince when a third song rang out in dissonance with the others, joining the melody of the kitchen with a loud CRASH of cymbals. Moments later, a silver-haired Dwarf, Dori she thought his name was, poked his head into the kitchen.

It was either Dori or…that other one, whose eyebrows were braided. Only those two had had cymbals in their personal songs.

“Good morning, Master Baggins!” he greeted cheerfully, just audible over the din of the three songs, which suddenly switched to a melody of bagpipes and flutes upon his arrival. “I had wondered when you would awaken. Are you well?” he asked, forcing Bramble to read his lips as he moved closer “You look a mite pale.”

Attempting to pitch her voice properly, Bramble replied “Yes, of course. I had some unsettling dreams, Master Dori, but I am quite all right,” though from the sounds of his song, he didn’t quite believe her. “And I’ve yet to have my morning cup of tea. Would you like a cup as well?”

He didn’t correct her, which meant she’d gotten his name right. That meant the other one, the russet-haired one, was his brother Nori. 

And it wasn’t like she had slept all that poorly, it was just that their songs had followed her into her dreams, and the disharmony made it difficult to sleep deeply.  She really hoped that the longer she was around them, the more tolerance she would have, because otherwise she would have to be more careful.  Maybe she could push it back by humming to herself.

She’d have to try that later, when she wasn’t busy.

“Oh!” Dori smiled “Of course,” he bowed to her slightly “If that is acceptable.” And he was still too quiet for her to hear without reading his lips.

Not that that really bothered her all that much.  It helped her focus her eyes, since her vision was a little blurry with the effects of the songs.

“Of course, it’s no problem; I usually put on too much water for myself, anyway,” Bramble said, smiling kindly at him.  That was untrue, though she had done so this morning to be polite. “Though I’m afraid I am fond of a rather spicy blend myself-if you do not like spicy tea, might I suggest my vanilla and bergamot blend?”

Dori looked, and sounded thoughtful, a note of something she couldn’t quite recognize as an instrument weaving its way through his song. And then, just as quickly as it had come, it vanished, leaving behind the flute, bagpipes, and drums to thunder through her ears and chest again.

What _was_ that? That had most definitely not been his song, but she didn’t recognize the song’s owner, either. Or the instrument.

“Might I try your spicy blend?” asked Dori “I am quite fond of spicy food, Master Baggins.  Even if your kin find it too hot, I sincerely doubt I will.”

That was what they all said, all the Hobbits and Men she’d warned about the brew.  Even some Elves had difficulty stomaching it.  Before he’d gotten used to the flavor, even _Gandalf_ found it a bit much to handle.  But if Dori were interested, she’d give him a chance to try it, just like everything else. She nodded.

And then the title caught up to her.  Master Baggins.  How very…polite for a Dwarf, especially an outsider, and it reminded her of her relatives in a bad way. Her father had been _Master Baggins_ , not-her.  Not the crazy spinster Hobbit.

Just then, she heard Thorin’s song ring out like a clap of thunder, nearly drowning the rest of theirs in the hallway and making her straighten a little, despite how it exhausted her.  That annoying buzz started up over her skin again, like the music of his song was just barely touching it.  If he got the wrong impression, he might decide to leave her behind, and she would _not_ let him leave her behind.

The hangover cure.  She’d nearly forgotten that at least six of them would need it, though if he could stomach the tea, Dori would not be in need of one.

“I would rather you call me Bramble, all of you,” Bramble said, raising her voice enough that she knew Thorin would hear her from the hallway. His song was beginning to thunder through her chest, making her vision blur a little. “I am not my father, and Master Baggins was always his title, not mine.”

The Shire’s song pushed back against Thorin’s, giving her room to breathe as another of those dizzy moments hit the Dwarf king. This time, she did not feel nearly as nauseous as earlier, and she hid a sigh of relief.

She had quite enough to deal with without getting sick every five minutes from Dwarvish hangovers.

“Of course Mas,” Dori cleared his throat awkwardly, “Mister Bramble.”

Well, it was a start, at least.  Hopefully over the course of their journey they would be more comfortable simply calling her Bramble.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself as she felt Thorin’s song brush over her, she heard the three louder songs take over again.

That still felt weird.  Why Thorin’s song made her skin almost _hum_ was still a mystery to her.  Still, with the Shire anchoring her, it was easier to bear than the others. Hopefully the songs of the wilderness liked her as much as the Shire did, or she would have a serious problem once they left the Shire behind. 

The teakettle whistled, jolting her out of her thoughts, and she prepared two cups of tea for herself and Dori.  Discreetly, she added a few extra herbs to her tea, ones that helped with migraines and dampened some of the adverse effects of her…abilities. Having those along might be the only way she could continue the journey, even if the herbs’ effects would be gone by midafternoon.

It wouldn’t do if she were to fail at guiding them out of the Shire due to distraction, since this was her homeland. 

She poured the two cups of tea and prepared them with a smile, turning to Dori “Would you care for any sugar, or milk perhaps?” she offered “I believe there is a little milk left, and with some sugar this is the perfect hangover cure.”

Dori blinked a few times, looking surprised before he shook his head with a smile “No, thank you Ma-Mister Bramble,” he corrected himself, “I should like to find out what it tastes like before I add either.  And I do not have a hangover this morning.”

Even as he said it, she knew he was lying.  His song rang with a dissonant, loud note, which was shortly thereafter accompanied by a dizzy spell that left her grateful for her foresight in leaning against the counter.  There was no nausea with this one, though, which was good.

She noticed Dori had taken to inspecting the tea “It will be done in a moment, Master Dori, and then you may drink to your heart’s content, unless you find it too spicy for your liking.”

Bramble inhaled the warm, spicy scent of her tea as she lifted the steaming cup, blowing on it a few times to test how warm it was. From the hot air that blew back at her, she knew it was too hot to comfortably drink, at least by normal folk’s standards, but it was almost done brewing.  Dori frowned, testing the water with a finger, and when he didn’t appear to be burned, Bramble quietly made a note of it.

Perhaps she could drink her tea like she normally did, then, and not have to worry about the stares and comments this behavior would normally receive. If Dwarves could withstand the same amount of heat she could, it would not be considered abnormal for her to join them.

Especially considering how little they appeared to know about Hobbits and their customs.

“It should be ready now,” Bramble told him, taking pity on him since he seemed rather impatient to taste it. “Though you should be careful, and start with a small sip.  If you do not like it, I will drink yours, as well.”

Dori waited until she was not looking (or thought she wasn’t looking) to roll his eyes at her commentary, but he also removed the small strainer and placed it on the edge of his plate.  It had no scraps of food on it, and looked perfectly clean, so either he’d cleaned his plate already or hadn’t eaten yet.  Bramble was willing to bet it was the latter, given the way he’d been eyeing the food she’d laid out.

Then he picked up the tea, blew on it one last time, and took a sip, calmly setting the teacup back on the saucer.  He didn’t swallow, but he didn’t spit it out either-and then his eyes widened comically, no doubt as he registered just how spicy it was. Bramble started reaching for the cup she had on hand for curious tweens and other relatives who decided to try and prove themselves by drinking it.

But instead of spitting it out, like she was expecting, the Dwarf’s song grew a little bit calmer, and he swallowed the tea with a strange melody weaving its way through his song.  It was a quick, peaceful and lively tune, trilled on a soprano flute. The sound made her smile.

“This is very, _very_ good tea, Mister Bramble,” Dori complimented, taking another sip “Just the right blend of spices to set a good fire in your throat and warm your belly.”

Bramble smiled, taking a sip of her own and feeling her tongue almost catch fire as the spicy flavors took over.  She swallowed, and replied “Yes, that’s why I enjoy it, but most everyone I have offered it to tells me it’s too spicy.”

“Nonsense!” Dori argued, taking another sip “This is the perfect tea for a Dwarf, especially on an early morning such as this!  Tell me, do you have a specific recipe for yours?” he asked, as Bramble removed the strainer from hers and set it next to Dori’s.

Bramble’s heart almost skipped a beat in disbelief, hearing his song backing up his words.  He _wanted_ the tea recipe.  He actually _liked_ it.

For years she had been deemed unfit to even really brew tea like a proper Hobbit could, and here was a Dwarf, complimenting not only her brewing skills but her choice of tea leaves.  He could not know what a compliment he had just paid to her, but it made her spirits lift all the same.

Bramble swallowed more tea before replying “I do, as a matter of fact, and I am bringing much of it on our journey.  The burn helps me wake up in the mornings,” she smiled “And I agree, it is quite pleasant.”

Dori’s answering smile was not mocking, but rather, understanding “I understand completely, Mister Bramble.  Might I have the recipe, so that when we retake our home I may serve it?” Bramble frowned, confused. “Oh-my apologies,” he explained “I am hoping to open a shop, perhaps a tavern for Dwarrow after we finish for the day, and I know several strong Dwarrow who would appreciate this blend.”

Bramble nodded “I grew the herbs myself,” she said, “once I figured out which ones went well together, it was all a matter of trial and error. Do you think any of the Company might prefer this to the Baggins Family Hangover Cure, Master Dori?”

Dori nodded “Yes, I most certainly do, Mister Bramble. Fíli and Kíli certainly would, and I know Ori would appreciate it much more than a hangover cure. I believe there are ten Dwarrow with hangovers this morning.  It does the same?”

Oh, that explained _so_ much.

Bramble took a long draw of her tea as three sour notes rang out loudly in the songs, swallowing her tea to try and avoid the dizziness. It almost worked; the burn helped her to center herself, but seriously, these Dwarrow needed to learn to listen to her.  Dwarrow? Dwarves?  She really had to ask.

“Yes, I developed it partly as a headache and nausea remedy for myself, as the chamomile helps settle my stomach,” explained Bramble. “I assume those with hangovers will heed my warnings in the future,” she added, amused, because it _was_ their fault in the first place. “Hobbit ale is incredibly potent.  I wasn’t lying when I said two mugs was enough.”

Dori nodded “Aye, it is,” he agreed, “Stronger than we expected, I think.”

“Oh-I am sorry,” Bramble said, feeling her cheeks warm “I did try to warn you, and I limited it to the amount that I know you may safely drink, assuming a base,” she had to pause, fighting down borrowed nausea for a split second, “level of tolerance that you all shared.  Clearly, I miscalculated.”

Dori smiled back “How would you have known, Mister Bramble, unless you have had several Dwarrow as guests before?”

Again with the Dwarrow.  Why was it Dwarrow and not Dwarves?  Which was actually _right_?

Maybe Gandalf would know.  He always seemed to know things like this.

Bramble shook her head “No, though I thought there was a basic alcohol tolerance that all races shared,” she admitted, and Dori chuckled, the chuckle booming through his song with the crashing of cymbals. “Clearly, I was wrong. Though all of you beat the last Elf that tried the Baggins Family Ale by half a flagon, and unless I’m mistaken, most of you haven’t been sick over it.”

Dori took another sip from his tea “Aye, we have a stronger tolerance than Elves,” he said, sounding a little smug.

He felt very smug, if his song were any indication; drums and cymbals cracked and crashed together in unison, thundering through her chest. Bramble almost lost her grip on the Shire’s song and felt it out, trying to draw it forward and wrap it around her as a shield, and the sound of warbling panpipes soon replaced Dori’s thunderous music, letting her relax a little.

The music of the bubbling brook nearby soon joined it and the throbbing at the base of her skull began to ease again.

“Is the rivalry that strong, then?” she asked, trying to make light of it. Dori stared at her incredulously, and she quickly explained. “I am a Hobbit, Master Dori-I have never been involved in such a thing, nor have any other Hobbits that I know of. We are peaceful folk, and we do not venture outside the borders of the Shire much.  I have read about it, in quite a few books, but I have also read a few tales about Elves and Dwarves who have been the best of friends.”

Those were rare, but they were truly a great read when one really looked at them.  She loved the tale of Celebrimbor and Narvi, given how close they were to each other. A part of her had always hoped to find that type of close companionship, but it was unlikely that Bramble would ever feel comfortable enough with anyone to discuss her innermost secrets with them, let alone become very close friends with anyone.

Dori frowned, anger echoing through his song as well as a deep sense of bitterness, “I may not be the best one to tell that story, Mister Bramble,” he replied.  She couldn’t tell his tone, for once again she could _not_ hear his voice, but it was a sore subject. “But yes.  Most Elves are greedy, thieving bastards who…” he shook his head, and turned back to his tea “They can’t be trusted.”

The deep well of bitterness opened, plunging into an abyss of howling, whistling horns, in which a very different, almost broken tune enveloped Dori’s song.  Bramble was presented with the distant strains of another song, the song of a little girl no older than five, so energetic and filled with life…and then, its painful, abrupt end, and an Elf with golden-white hair turning his (for that figure was not female) back on Dori at the same time.  The music suddenly cut short, leaving Dori’s song all alone again.

Bramble kept her mouth shut and stared into her tea, trying hard not to show what she was feeling as tears welled up in her eyes.   She had sometimes picked up on emotions, but none like _this_ , and none that were so _deep_ before now. Closing her eyes, she reached for a different portion of the Shire’s song, the cheerier part, trying to quell the bitterness that rose inside her as she realized why Dori hated Elves so much.

They had taken someone very, very important from him. And how could she argue against it? Anyone who would hurt a _child_ like that deserved everything they got from the Dwarves. Anyone who would turn away a person in need-well, they certainly weren’t very kind or hospitable, and would be getting a piece of her mind if she ever saw them.

After mastering herself, she asked another question that had been bothering her. “Master Dori, what is the proper way to describe two-as in, more than one-Dwarves?  Dwarves, or Dwarrow?”

It would also help her dig herself out of Dori’s music, and into the general music of the surrounding area.  Almost immediately, the question wrenched Dori out of his memories, the bitterness fading from his song until it was just a dull ache, both in his chest and hers.  It hurt, yes, but not like an open wound would.

Dori’s eyebrows shot up, but he answered her question all the same “Dwarrow is the proper way to think of more than one Dwarf, if you are describing us as a single race or as a group,” he explained “The taller races like to describe us in Common in a way that makes more _sense_ , for all the good it does them.” He snorted, shaking his head and taking a long draw from the teacup.

“So it is Dwarrow, then?” Bramble asked, and Dori nodded. “Thank you, Master Dori; I would not want to offend one of you by-” Bramble suddenly couldn’t speak, not as the loudest song of them all blared through the kitchen, filled with annoyance and anger. 

She coughed, vaguely aware of her hand shaking as Thorin’s song buzzed across her skin, her breath catching in her throat, and managed to set her teacup down after finishing it, hoping the herb would kick in soon. Suppressing her abilities might actually let her think during their trip out of the Shire.  Dissonant chords rang through the kitchen as Thorin, grumpy as ever, stomped (yes, stomped, and in time with the song’s drumming too) in, and growled something she couldn’t hear.

Her vision was also blurring again.  Oh, splendid.

Whatever Thorin said, the ringing in her ears from his song, as annoyed as he was, was so loud she couldn’t hear him.  She tried to read his lips, but the hazy feeling his song gave her had descended the moment he entered the kitchen, and just then the sour notes of discord rang out again, this time _behind_ his song.  At least this time they used Thorin as a shield, of a sort, making it much harder for her to actually become too affected by the sudden wave of dizziness that followed, but it helped her to keep from anchoring herself to his aura. 

That was dangerous.  The last tree she had done that with had turned out to be very much alive, and quite amused with her. She would not forget that experience. At least the tree had been friendly-she doubted Thorin would be.

And why _was_ he the only one glowing, anyway?

“Mister Bramble,” Dori was saying, she realized as the din receded to a dull roar, “Mister Bramble, can you hear me?”

“I’m all right,” Bramble coughed again, keeping the tea out of her lungs, shaking her head to clear the last of the dizziness and hoping that the herbal concoction she’d prepared didn’t knock her out.  Thorin was still glaring from the doorway of the kitchen, and she smiled at him “I’m sorry-what was that?”

“We need to _leave_ ,” growled the Dwarf, “And _soon_.” His song changed paces all of a sudden when he met her eyes, as if he was confused “Did you not hear, _Master_ Baggins, or are your ears as terrible as they were last night?”

Bramble raised an eyebrow “I’m afraid I went a bit deaf temporarily,” she said dryly, and Dori ducked his head to finish his tea, the bagpipes blaring a distant, though amused tone. “That tends to happen when I inhale my tea and start choking.”

Dori spluttered something unintelligible, coughing on the tea and shaking his head at whatever Thorin said next, which was lost underneath the din of the songs.  Hopefully she could keep this up. It was already less of a strain than it had been last night.

Thorin cleared his throat, looking a little awkward-or she assumed that was what he was doing, judging by the way the low voice in his song vibrated a little. “I believe you promised us a hangover cure.”

Was he speaking intentionally louder?  She did _not_ need him to compensate for her inability to stop hearing their songs.  Even if it _was_ nice of him to do so, it also made her look a bit thick and she didn’t appreciate that.

“How many of you like very spicy tea?” Bramble asked, steadying herself before pushing off the counter.  Hopefully Thorin hadn’t noticed that her knees had buckled when he’d walked in, but it was a slim hope. “I’ve a blend here that is a perfect hangover cure, with a little sugar.”

“He’s right,” agreed Dori, “I’ve had a cup myself.  Very good for hangovers.”

Bramble felt her lips twitching, but tried to ignore the obvious hesitant look Dori shot her.

“Tea?” Thorin sounded incredulous, and his song was even louder in response; that wasn’t really helping, but it didn’t hurt, either. “How can _tea_ help?”

“It’s my special blend,” Bramble explained “I use it in the mornings, but it’s also a perfect cure, at least for me, for headaches, dizziness, nausea and all of the nasty symptoms of the morning after a night of drinking a little too much-or a lot, depending on what sort of party it was.” She shrugged “It also works for my headaches, especially the nasty ones, with a lot of sugar.”

Thorin blinked a few times, before scowling again, and saying something she couldn’t make out, at least not without thinking about it. Picking through the sounds in her head, she took a moment to decipher what he’d said-he said _then we need nine cups, before breakfast_ , and something in what she suspected was Khuzdûl, since she couldn’t understand it.

The general tone of it was unimpressed, though, ringing through his song with annoyance and impatience.

“Nine cups it is,” said Bramble, well aware she’d taken a bit too long to answer, and smiled brightly at him “I’ll just make enough for all of us, as it is, as I said, quite the pleasant tea to wake up to in the mornings.”

Thorin huffed “I’ll be the judge of _that_.”

Oh, would he? Bramble slanted a challenging smirk in his direction and turned her back on him deliberately, moving to blend more tea leaves together in a silken bag so that they did not end up floating loose in the tea. She prepared twelve of these bags, trying to avoid the urge to begin humming.  As much as it would help her focus, it would likely also anger the Dwarf behind her and she really didn’t need to start an argument so early in the morning.

But it was tempting.  Oh, it was _so_ tempting to start humming to get on Thorin’s nerves with the way he’d just treated her, but she dared not accidentally cancel out the effects of her herbs so soon after taking them. Instead, she put the water on to boil, and proceeded to pull out a bag, scooping as much of the tea blend as she could into it.  At Dori’s inquisitive look, she took a pinch out of the jar she was drawing from, and placed it in his hand.

“This is the blend,” she said, “If you wish to study it. If not, you can always put it in the bag,” she gestured to the rather large bag of tea herbs and spices. “I haven’t packed this yet, since I didn’t want to wake anyone last night.”

She had already packed her other herbs, including the one blend that really helped with her headaches, other than this one.  This one was less medicinal and more for personal taste, though it was undeniably a massive help when it came to being ill due to the songs surrounding her.  Which would probably be happening more and more often, now that she was traveling with the Company.

Great. Dori was talking again, and she opened her ears, trying to listen to the spoken word, instead of the unspoken, as he tried to figure out what was in the tea mixture. 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Almost three hours later, she stood on her front porch, ready to leave Bag End behind.  And possibly for good. Her affairs were all in order, with a letter to the Thàin sitting on the mantel above the fireplace, and Tomwise Gamgee was to watch her garden while she was gone.  She had taken what she could from the garden after breakfast, while talking to Tomwise; most of it consisted of herbs that would be very useful on the journey, and some were to keep her from standing out more than she already did. She had also taken some seeds, for when they arrived, and to use as a peace offering should one be needed.

Was that-no.  _No_.  They absolutely could not intend to put her on a pony.  The Dwarrow and Gandalf were all riding ponies but she was perfectly content to stay on the ground!  They were parading past her front door, with Thorin at the head, his song weaving the others together until they were in some semblance of order.

They were still loud, but as the herbs had kicked in, she wasn’t drowning in them like she had been last night and this morning.

Bramble started hurrying along next to the riders, keeping pace with the ponies easily.  The Dwarf to her left glanced down at her with an incredulous note in his song. She had to prove that she didn’t need a pony, or else they’d probably try to force her onto one.

“You can’t _possibly_ intend to walk the whole way like that?” he asked her, and Bramble pressed on, knowing she could very well do this all day.

“I do,” said the Hobbit “Hobbits are not made for ponies.”

Then again, they might try to anyway.

Kíli’s song resounded with a mischievous fiddle all around her as the Dwarf chuckled “Master Boggins, not even a Dwarf can run fast enough to keep up with one of these ponies when they really start going.  What makes you think you can?”

Bramble ignored him, waving cheerily at the Hobbits they passed with a smile on her face.  Each and every one, including dreadful Lobelia, gave her the most incredulous look as she passed. Not for the first time, she was grateful she hadn’t hired a gardener or someone to help her around the house-even if it was proper, it would have given her away.

Two hands suddenly grabbed her shoulders, and Bramble yelped as she glanced around, seeing Fíli and Kíli, though which was which she wasn’t sure, holding her off the ground.

“Put-me-down!” yelled Bramble almost immediately, kicking out with her feet a few times and struggling towards the ground.

She was put down, as she requested-but it was on top of a _pony_.  Bramble bit back a curse in Hobbitish as the horse’s hair brushed against her legs, rubbing gently against her foot hair-it _tickled_ , for goodness’ sake!  And it was very uncomfortable, too.  Bramble was easily four feet off the ground, and her legs flopped uselessly about half a foot above the saddle stirrups, making her very uncomfortable. Worse was the way the saddle was digging into her crotch, making her breeches shift around and rub in the wrong places.

Were she actually male, that would have really hurt.  She’d forgotten how uncomfortable riding could be, especially after a long break.

“I _told you_ ,” she snapped at them “Hobbits _don’t ride_!” but that only made them laugh, _all_ of them.

These Dwarves really were a rude lot.  First, throwing her priceless crockery around and generally ignoring her, and now this?!  It was almost too much to take. But almost against her will, she was growing to like it.  They were blunt and honest, deferring to none of the posturing of Hobbit society or the manners she had been taught.  It was so rare to find such honesty nowadays.

And besides, they thought nothing of her riding.  They’d forced her into the saddle themselves, like it was normal! Dwarrow truly were strange folk. Hobbits would definitely be staring.

One of the mischievous duo handed her the reins “It’s all right, you’ll figure it out quick enough,” he said, smiling at her with a confident note in his song, though it still sang of mischief. 

It was improper for any Hobbit to ride a pony by the time they entered their mid-tweens.  She didn’t want to cause any more of a scene than she already had, but the stares were making her uncomfortable.

Bramble stared down at the pony, hoping with each flap of her skin against the worn leather saddle that she wasn’t about to trigger again. It hadn’t happened when she’d touched the saddle, but that could have been the herbs.  Those suppressed all of her gifts, not just the songs.

Since last night her gifts had been acting up, and she could only pray that without the Shire there to anchor her that she wouldn’t fall into another long vision. As a child, she hadn’t had many triggers while around animals, but it had been at least twenty years since she’d ridden anything, and that was Myrtle, a gentle, shy foal of a pony who had been her friend all of these years, even after she’d stopped riding.

This pony seemed docile and gentle enough, but she couldn’t tell. She had some experience with animals, enough to know not to spook the pony any further, and how to hold the reins, but not much more than that.  As a tween she’d been taught she wasn’t supposed to ride, not if she wanted to be a proper Hobbit lass and her mother had always been so concerned about Bramble’s safety while on a pony that her brief foray into riding hadn’t lasted long.

Belladonna had encouraged many of Bramble’s odd habits, but riding a pony wasn’t one of them.  Bungo had been relieved that Belladonna had refused to buy his daughter a pony or let her take riding lessons from one of the more adventurous Brandybucks.

“What’s the matter, Mister Boggeens?” asked the Dwarf she thought was Kíli and Bramble sighed, hearing their songs mute themselves one by one into a dull, background hum.

“It’s _Baggins_ , Master Kíli,” she replied, turning to look at him “I was just thinking. Why?”

He didn’t correct her, so apparently she’d gotten it right. And without the help of the songs, too! Bramble congratulated herself, making a note of his appearance-he had dark hair, while his brother had light hair.

He nodded to her hands “You’re holding the reins really tightly. Poor Minty can’t even lower her head!”

Startled, Bramble glanced ahead only to see she _was_ doing that, lowering her hands with a sheepish smile. He was right-the poor pony couldn’t lower her head.

The other Tookish one, his brother, called back “If it’s his first time, it’s not that unusual for it to be a bit _harder_!”

Bramble couldn’t help but hear the double meaning in the words, and silently cursed her pale skin as she flushed a little.  No self-respecting Hobbit, except the _tweens_ of the lot, would say such a thing.  Especially not around someone they’d just met!

But to her surprise the rest of the Dwarrow were laughing and chuckling at his joke. Their songs resonated together with the sounds of their laughter, a beautiful melody that quickly washed away her embarrassment and anger at the joke.  Now that she wasn’t being deafened by it all, it was just as it should have been-beautiful.  She couldn’t help but smile, picking up the teasing undertone of the songs. They really had meant well.

Perhaps she could get used to this after all.  She _had_ always laughed at the Tooks’ jokes far more than the Baggins’ (which made very little sense to her), but she’d kept it to herself. 

The dark-haired Dwarf grinned at her when she caught his eye “So, Mister Baggeens,” she hid a grimace at his mangling of her last name “Have you ever been out of the Shire?”

“No,” said Bramble, nearly swallowing her tongue as she remembered the why of it needed to be kept to herself. He looked at her, askance “Why?”

“Really?” Dark-hair asked, staring at her “I was just wondering. Does that mean you know a lot about the Shire?” he glanced around them, noting the Hobbits that were staring rather openly. “And why’s everyone staring at you?”

“Yes, really,” said Bramble, smiling at him. “And please, call me Bramble. It’s much nicer than Baggins, to be honest.” And it fit her more than the name Baggins did. “Yes, you could say I know a lot about the Shire.  I hear things no one else does sometimes, because when my hair is covered I am rather forgettable.  People are staring because Hobbits, as I said, don’t ride ponies.”

They were also staring because she was old, mad Bramble Baggins, obviously off on an adventure, but he didn’t need to know that.

After all, it wasn’t like they were going to learn her nicknames from just riding around the Shire, were they?  They’d be out of here soon enough.

*-*-*-*-*-*

It took them three hours of getting lost near the Gamgees’ smial (they passed it at least eighteen times) for Bramble to take pity on Thorin and take the lead. Though his kinsmen teased him for his terrible sense of direction, this was in no way his fault. She had the feeling from the teasing that Thorin got lost fairly easily, but she wasn’t one to ask, so she didn’t speak up.

Gandalf had found the whole situation incredibly amusing.  Hah.  Thorin had just grumbled and growled at her, refusing to let her lead, but he relented when Gandalf backed her up with stories of literally _every_ one of the Big Folk that visited losing their way in the Shire.

That led them here, to the other side of the Brandywine River, at the edge of the Old Forest. With her guiding them, it would not take long to get through the forest, but thinking about walking through there still gave her chills.  She’d only been in the Old Forest twice as a tween, and after the second time had had to promise not to return.  To her senses, it was young, compared to the Shire, but chilling, with a dark feeling hovering around it.

And that was without being able to hear its song.

For the first time since this morning, Bramble wished she hadn’t drunk the tea, so she could hear its song.  It would prepare her for whatever lay ahead.  Her tea wouldn’t wear off for another five or so hours, so unless she wanted to be dizzy and sick all afternoon, she had to carry on as she was.

The group trotted their ponies forward, across the last bits of the path before the forest, and towards the waypoint.  It only took a moment for a very familiar, out-of-breath voice to call her name.

She pretended to ignore it, but when it had been shouted several times at their backs, she turned back in her saddle.

Her cousin, young Fortinbras Took, was running up the path, waving a greeting with one hand, his coppery-brown curls bouncing along atop his head as he ran. In his other hand was a brown leather satchel, with the strap wrapped across his chest.

“Bramble!” he greeted, panting and out of breath.  Fort was a good runner, but even he would be hard-pressed to catch ponies. “Glad I caught you, cousin.”

“What’s wrong, Fort?” asked Bramble, as her cousin caught his breath.

She pulled up on the reins, stopping Minty and the Dwarrow in their tracks behind her so Fort could keep up.  He gratefully leant against Minty to catch his breath, and after a moment, looked up at her with a grin.

“Wrong?” Fortinbras chuckled, shaking his head before he handed her a satchel. “Nothing, really.  It’s just-Gran wants you to have this,” he said, as Bramble leant over, grabbing onto the edge of her saddle with her other hand as she took the satchel from him. “She wanted me to give that to you, and say...”

Bramble’s world fell away the instant she hefted the bag onto her lap with two hands, just as the leather touched the bare skin below her knees-

_-A flute whistled through the air, its sharp, warlike tune catching her attention and she turned to look across the field before them. She was standing-no, sitting on the edge of the battlefield, atop a pony and beside her were the Dwarrow. Not Minty, though. Tucked under one arm was the only instrument she dared play a tune on, the Took family fiddle, with the bow across her back._

_In front of her was a large army, covered in darkness.  Behind them and over top of them was a great dark curtain; the darkness was like a net, lit with a sickly red from behind.  Flashes of red-edged black lightning lit the skies as an eagle soared overhead, its song a war cry in her ears._

_Bramble lifted her eyes to the skies, lifting the fiddle to her shoulder and pulling its bow off her back. She put bow to fiddle, preparing to fight-_

She came back to herself with a jolt, only just remembering to breathe deeply, and trying to ignore the way her heart thundered in her ears. This was her many times great-grandmother’s fiddle, it had to be-originally crafted for Amaryllis Took, passed down through generations to each of the Took heirs and heiresses that learnt the fiddle.  Bramble had not learnt to really play, and had only played once, for her mother. 

Granny Took couldn’t know.  She _couldn’t_.  Belladonna and Bungo had been _so_ careful that no one knew what Bramble could do and the Bounders had always avoided Bag End after a nasty confrontation involving Belladonna’s frying pan. But somehow, Granny Took _knew_ she could play, and that Bramble would need the fiddle.

The evidence was sitting right here in her lap.

Smiling to cover her nerves and suddenly racing heart, she nodded to Fortinbras “Thanks, Fort.  I’ll be sure to use it when I need it.  Tell Grandmother,” she paused “tell grandmother that where I’m going, I might not be able to return it.”

Which was why she didn’t think she should take it.

Fortinbras chuckled “Grandmother says no one can sing half so well as you, Bramble, and that Granny Ama would have willed it to you.  No Took will ever make that sing like you can.” Bramble’s cheeks instantly warmed, and she ducked her head. “You’ll need it. Use it.” He paused, frowning “She says that when the time comes, you can use it to hold off the darkness, like Granny Ama did.  _Can_ you?”

Bramble felt a stone drop into her stomach as she stared at him, mouth falling open in surprise and fear.  She glanced behind her, but the Dwarrow didn’t seem to have heard her conversation with Fort, nor had Gandalf.  She breathed out once, feeling a little more at ease.

“I don’t know, Fort,” she said, “But I will certainly try.”

Fortinbras’ response was cut off by Thorin’s pony trotting up beside her, and the Dwarf King’s scowl was plain for all to see.

“If you’re quite done, _Master_ Baggins,” Thorin said sternly, “We have a forest to pass through.” Bramble closed her eyes, fighting the urge to snap back at him; didn’t he see she was doing something important?

No, of course not.  He wasn’t privy to her conversation.  But he was standing right there.  That irritating buzz was _still_ there, she realized as he grew close to her, and her skin was tingling.  Con _found_ this Dwarf and his ability to irritate her like this!

“Fine traveling companions you’ve chosen, cousin,” said Fortinbras, and Bramble winced. “Very polite and all.”

Bramble swallowed to hide her start, then shrugged “Their customs do not match ours so I cannot hold them to our standards,” she replied diplomatically, feeling Thorin’s eyes boring holes into her back.

“Of course,” Fortinbras grinned at her “of course.  Through the Old Forest, then?  Might be a bit dangerous.  Do you want me to join you?”

Bramble sighed “Fortinbras, what’s going on?” she asked, eager to get this over with before she could upset Thorin or the other Dwarrow any more than she already had.

She remembered the way, even though she hadn’t ventured in here in over ten years.  The paths to the other side would not have changed; they were maintained by the Bounders, and never let to fall to ruin or overgrowth.

The Hobbit grinned up at her “Why, I just wanted to see you off, _dear cousin_ ,” he said, with a grin that made her wish she could hear his song, so she knew what he was up to.

If only for a moment, though.  She didn’t know what he was thinking, and she didn’t like it.  The lack of knowing was a small price to pay for not going deaf or having serious headaches around the Dwarrow, but she still found it irritating.

“Really,” said Bramble dryly, arching an eyebrow. “That wouldn’t be an excuse to drag me off home, then, _would it_?” she asked, her tone sharp. “Because I assure you, I will _not_ be going back.”

Fortinbras gasped “I’m _hurt_ , cousin!” he wheedled, “That you would think such a thing of me, an _upstanding_ Hobbit in my own right-”

She could hear snickers from behind her, and felt her ears growing hot. Bramble could have cursed; all she wanted was to _leave_ the Shire, without having to look back.  Maybe in a month or so she would find she didn’t want to leave, and in fact wanted to return, but right now she couldn’t stand it.  Even Fort, who looked up to her, was a reminder of all of the meddling aunts and uncles of the Took family that muttered about her behind her back.

“Fortinbras,” Bramble said, cutting through his tirade with a chuckle “Like it or not, I’m _leaving the Shire_ ,” she emphasized “Today.  Whatever your business is, please, get to it quickly so we may leave without attracting even more gawping Hobbits or silly fauntlings.”

Fortinbras’ grin wavered, something else taking over his eyes, but she didn’t recognize it. To her shock, he reached out, taking hold of her nearest leg for a second and squeezing it gently, three times in quick succession. Bramble leant over to let him whisper in her ear.

“Goodbye, dear cousin,” whispered Fortinbras, giving her a quick one-armed hug. “Be careful, and please, once you’re done with your adventure, at least _visit_ us here in the Shire, if you don’t come back.”

“I will do my best,” promised Bramble, giving him a one-armed hug in return. “Goodbye, Fort.  Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone,” she warned with a laugh, settling herself back in the saddle.

“Oh, I think I’ll do just fine,” Fort said, waving to her as she turned towards the Old Forest. “Be careful, and don’t let Old Man Willow near your buttocks this time!”

Bramble flushed hotly, glaring at her cousin “Says the Hobbit I had to rescue from _his branches_ ,” she shouted back, trying to hold back the very improper curse words that had run through her head.

She didn’t quite succeed, settling for mumbling a few curses under her breath as they rode towards the Old Forest. 

Bramble had had _quite_ the adventure in this place as a young Hobbit.  The Old Forest was filled with trees that were much younger and wilder than those of the Shire, and was not nearly as pleasant or kind at heart as the Shire was. Some of them wanted to _possess_ her, or so she thought, judging from their songs, while the rest simply…didn’t want her to leave at all once she entered. Both times it had trapped her, _fully_ trapped her, she had been forced to order it to let her go by singing her way free.

She wasn’t sure she could make it through here, at least not without singing, but this time she wasn’t alone.  She was no longer an impetuous young Hobbit, or so she liked to think, and had more experience dealing with stubborn, loving plants than before. And maybe with the suppression of her gift the trees would be less inclined to simply try to keep her for their own.

Even without the music, she noted with a wince, the trees were turning towards her, the tree limbs groaning their way in her direction as they entered the forest.  She muttered a curse in the first non-Common language to come to mind, and straightened in the saddle, halting her pony.

She turned to look back at the column of Dwarrow, counting them; thirteen, plus Gandalf, was how many they were supposed to have counting her. And- _good_ , she hadn’t lost anyone in the Shire.

Thorin’s song, a faint clattering of bells in her ears now, thrummed deeply and she turned to look at him “Yes, Master Oakenshield?”

“Why have we stopped?” demanded the Dwarf, scowling rudely at her.

Bramble took three deep breaths before she replied just as rudely, deciding to be polite instead “I have a few warnings for those of our group. Gandalf, please, stay at the back!” she called to the Istarí. “Bad enough I lost Fortinbras once, but I would rather not lose any more people in here!  As for you _Dwarrow_ ,” she continued “Stay in a line, keep your eyes on the person in front of you and if the trees try to grab you, smack them.  Yell if they really do try to grab you out of the saddle, but whatever you do, _don’t_ cut off any limbs or raise an axe. This forest is still young enough to be angry with Dwarrow.”

That done, Bramble turned to start again, when Thorin’s low rumble interrupted her “And why would the trees try to _grab_ us?” he demanded, the buzz rumbling over her skin and causing her to shiver.

“Because this is the Old Forest, and the trees here still try to invade the Shire every now and again,” said Bramble, keeping her eyes on the path as she started walking Minty forward. “Keep up, Master Oakenshield,” she added, “I really do not want to have to go after you at the very start of our journey just because you did not heed my warnings.”

But Dwarrow were apt not to listen, as she had learned last night, and she had made her warnings as clear as she could.  Again. If they chose not to listen to her, then they were going to be easy pickings for the trees here.

Then again, it was possible the Forest would try something new, so her warnings could be for naught after all.

Traveling through the Old Forest would taken them an average of about three hours, maybe more if the Forest really didn’t want to let her go. Bramble picked up the reins for Thorin’s horse, hoping her tea wore off relatively soon, if only so she could keep track of which Dwarrow were behind her. 

She resolved to check, every fifteen minutes, to make sure none of them had wandered off.  Hopefully they _would_ heed her warnings, or else they were going to have a very, very messy adventure.

But she could only hope and pray to the Valar, to Eru, that they actually listened to her this time.

*-*-*-*-*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Istarí-A servant of the Valar sent to Middle-Earth; a Maia in physical form. Gandalf is one of five, but only three of them are really involved in this and future stories. Bramble knows he is an Istarí because presumably the Elves gave them that title (or they told it to the Elves) and she reads the old stories, including really old ones.
> 
> Bounders: Hobbits that patrol the borders of the Shire and within; basically a Hobbit police force. They follow unaware travelers around, and as the granddaughter of the Old Took (who is effectively the Lord of the Shire at this point in time) Bramble has had a few of them watching her for awhile.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting lost is as old as the Forest, probably older, but Bramble would really like it if she didn’t have to go after everyone just because the trees got grabby. Unfortunately, nobody listens to her, so almost everyone is now lost.
> 
> Or, that chapter in which the Old Forest gets irritating, Thorin is an ass, and Bramble has to save everyone for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing is still Thorin/Bramble but those two are going to take the entire journey to do anything more than dislike each other, I swear.
> 
> Hey all! Hope you aren’t TOO worried, haha. Didn't mean to disappear on you guys for a whole year.
> 
> So, I disappeared from this story mid-way through chapter Five, mostly because I got injured, and then lost inspiration because RL decided to butt in too. But I’m better now, and here is chapter five! Might upload Chapter Six in a few weeks, or start Soul of Light soon. Also, I am currently only sporadically able to access the internet to really do stuff. I’m borrowing this internet off my cell phone’s data to update...I will probably not post anything again until after Tuesday

 

*-*-*-*-*

They had been walking for an hour and a half when she realized they were going in circles. And, in fact, had been going in circles for the past fifteen minutes. They had just passed Old Man Willow’s Grove for the third time in a row, and the tree almost seemed to be _smirking_ at her. Bramble muttered something unkind at it under her breath, turning back to check for the Dwarrow again.

But now there was only one Dwarf sitting behind her.

 _Oh, confound it all_ , but she hated this bloody forest sometimes! She was not here to stay and babysit the trees; she was not its guardian, and she did not appreciate this! The Dwarf sitting behind her was either Fíli or Kíli, but she couldn’t tell without being able to hear his song, what with the herb still active.

The one still sitting behind her was blond. Whichever of them that one was, he was the only one left.

And to make matters worse, he seemed like he was half-asleep in the saddle. A vine was reaching out from a nearby tree to snag his reins and pull him away, down a path that was just starting to open to her left, but Bramble reached out with her hand, swatting it away and pulling both of their ponies to a halt.

He didn’t snap out of his daze immediately, though Gandalf stopped, too, pulling his reins up and trotting to where he stood next to them.

“Bramble,” said Gandalf, his brow furrowed, “I thought we had more Dwarrow with us than just young Fíli, here. This has never happened before.”

Bramble cursed under her breath as she heard the trees creaking around them, their song lighter and happier than it had been earlier, and shook her head. She’d half-expected the Forest to try something like this, because it loved her so much, and without any music to help her she had nothing she could use to stop it. It wasn’t dark, or menacing exactly, so much as it was a child that didn’t quite understand why she had to leave it behind.

At least, that was the impression she’d gotten last time around. The Forest was fairly young in comparison to the Shire, and didn’t know how to let go of what it considered its own belongings. Apparently the Forest counted her among those ‘belongings,’ which was a little irritating.

“I’ll thank you,” Bramble said snappily to the next tree that tried to grow a branch to snag her “ _Not_ to do that again,” her voice rang through the air, and it flinched back from her.

That done, she moved so she was sitting near enough to- _Fíli_ , Gandalf had called him, and with gloved fingers grabbed his chin, just above his beard hair. Gently, she turned his head so she could look directly at him, only to see that his eyes were unfocused, and she caught the faintest scent of a sweet concoction of pollen. The same pollen the Bounders used in their darts to send unlawful intruders or disturbers of the peace who grew too rowdy, to sleep.

Gandalf was still looking at her, “Bramble Baggins,” he said, “I should very much like an explanation for this behavior.”

Bramble sighed exasperatedly, “The Forest likes me, Gandalf. It always has. It tried to keep me here when I was naught more than a fauntling, and again when I was just out of my tweens and Fort got lost in here while we were playing a game of dares. I don’t like passing through here because it never wants me to leave, but Uncle Tom helped me out last time,” she explained. “Unfortunately, it’s a Tuesday, which means he’s at home with his wife, and not keeping an eye on things out here.”

She looked back at Fíli, sniffing a few more times as she heard him starting to snore. So the trees had used some kind of pollen, probably mixed with a little bit of their own power, to put Fíli to sleep. Bramble pulled open one of her saddlebags, reaching for her herbal pouch, and pulled out a pinch of cinnamon, a pinch of chili spice, and a pinch of ginger. She added some vanilla to the mixture, and shook it around in her hand.

Then she opened her palm and blew a small cloud of it into Fíli’s face.  

The Dwarf’s snores stopped abruptly as he yelped, coughing and sitting upright in the saddle, hacking and brushing at the herbal mixture that had just flooded his nose. Bramble sat back, satisfied, as he reached for a waterskin, eyes streaming, and managed to wash out his mouth, coughing.

“What the- _Kíli-_ I-” he stopped shouting the moment he saw Bramble sitting so close to him, coughing, but the pollen had definitely worn off. “What the _bloody hell_ was that?” he demanded, wheezing and coughing.

“Mind your language, Fíli, son of Dís!” Gandalf snapped, and Fíli ducked his head, mumbling an apology; his nostrils were flared open and his eyes were still watery when he looked back at her, but he was better. “Cinnamon, crushed chilies, and vanilla?”

“And ginger, too, to really wake him up,” Bramble concluded, smiling at Fíli. “Feeling more awake now, are we? You needn’t worry about offending me-my cousin yells like that all the time when I wake him to go to market,” she added quickly.

“What happened, Mister Bramble?” asked Fíli, rubbing at his teary eyes.

“Stop that before you hurt your eyes, Master Fíli,” she swatted at his hand, and he chuckled, lowering it. “The Old Forest happened, I’m afraid. This old place doesn’t want me to leave.” Fíli swallowed audibly “So it led our companions off into the woods, presumably so I had no reason to depart from the woods again.”

For a moment Fíli just gaped at her.

Then reality sunk in and he turned, looking around wildly “Where’s my brother? What happened to Kíli-will he be hurt, injured? Could the forest have done that to all of us? Why haven’t we-”

“Patience,” Gandalf cautioned, cutting Fíli off “We decided it was better to wake you first rather than having to run off to find you, too. Bramble, do you have any more herbal remedies that will keep us from falling asleep?”

“Yes, I have one that is guaranteed to work. Nothing short of literally knocking you out would put you out after drinking this, but be careful,” Bramble said, pulling out a few pouches of her best ‘keep-awake’ brew. “Add that to cold water and let it sit for a minute. The longer you leave it in, the stronger it gets, so please, pull it out of the water after a minute unless you wish to act extremely hyperactive and irrational. The colder the water, the stronger the effect the mixture has.”

Fíli noticed she wasn’t pulling a third one out “And what about you?”

“The forest’s power has never really worked on me, master Fíli,” said Bramble with a shrug. “Hobbits are naturally resilient creatures, and I am enough of a Took,” Fíli looked disbelieving, and Bramble shook her head again. “Gandalf, there is something I need to speak with you about later,” she added, “It’s about my luck.”

“Luck?” Fíli glanced between the two of them as he added the pouch to his waterskin, looking around for the path they’d been on. “The path’s disappeared! Where’s it gone?”

Bramble bit her tongue to hold back a very improper curse “It does that around me, I’m afraid,” she admitted, hand coming back to rest over the fiddle case behind her back, hoping she would not need it.

How much of her gift dared she reveal? She couldn’t find the Dwarrow without their songs, but her gift would be suppressed unless she started to sing. Whistling tended to let her use a milder version of her gift, after taking the herb, but the effects of her gift were much more bearable with it. Maybe she could whistle a tune without everything coming back?

She’d never used it in the Old Forest, though, so it might be stronger here.

Bramble knew whistling the song of the Old Forest was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place, as a tween, but she really didn’t want to have to reveal herself to Gandalf and Fíli, too, not _this_ soon. She wasn’t ready for that.

“My luck tends to grow worse the further I venture from home, no matter who my companions are,” warned Bramble, realizing she hadn’t answered their question. “I’m not entirely sure why, but the Shire is a safe haven and the rest of the world, Buckland included, tends to be more dangerous for me than for a normal Hobbit.”

Gandalf raised both eyebrows in surprise “Ah,” he said, “then that would explain this situation.”

“I honestly thought the Forest would leave me alone, now that I’m old enough, or I would have said something,” Bramble grumbled, when Fíli looked her way, taking a sip of the concoction. He shuddered almost immediately and she winced in sympathy “That drink is never tasty. I would advise downing as much of it as you can and taking the pouch out immediately after.”

Gandalf took a sip of it and almost appeared to gag, visibly fighting to keep it down. He took the soggy herb pouch out and handed it to her after a few more drinks, and only seconds later Fíli did the same, still shuddering.

“By _Mahâl,_ that’s disgusting!” the Dwarf managed, as he downed a few more mouthfuls. “Gah!” he shuddered again “Bleh!”

Then, to Bramble’s amazement, he proceeded to actually _scrape at his tongue_ with his gloves, spitting out what he could of the drink. “That-is- _disgusting_ ,” he managed, when he finished it. “Here,” he handed it to her, looking pleading “Can I please have a _different_ water skin?”

Bramble hesitated “You need to drink more of it than that. You need at least half the waterskin or this forest _will_ put you to sleep on me,” and he still looked drowsy, too which wasn’t a good sign.

Fíli grumbled something in a gravelly, gargling-rocks language she couldn’t understand, but took it back, and gulped down as much of it as he could. He stopped when he’d half-finished the waterskin, looking pleadingly her way, and Bramble handed him some mint to chew on. She offered the same to Gandalf, who took it and began chewing on it without question.

But then, he didn’t seem nearly as upset about the flavor as Fíli. It _was_ Gandalf, though, and he was a wizard, so it was possible he just had had more of it or similarly nasty-flavored things in his lifetime.

Come to think of it, was he related to Elves, or was she just seeing someone who was more…Elven than before, come to think of it? Everyone had always told Bramble he was a wizened old man with a gray beard and gray hair but he was a silver-haired, youthful Elf to her eyes with no beard.

Why did she see an Elf, when clearly no one else did?

Bramble cleared her throat, trying to settle her nerves “I need you _both_ to listen to me,” she said, “I’m going to start whistling. You’re welcome to join if you like. Just please, don’t interrupt me when I do this.

“Why whistle?” asked Fíli, though Gandalf looked just as confused by her suggestion.

“Well, I find it easier to find people when I’m whistling,” Bramble admitted, flushing a little.

That, and it would open her ears to their songs, even if they were muffled; not that she had any intention of telling the two of them that. It would also keep the Forest from trying anything covert to get the two of them away from her.

“Stay where you can hear me, and focus on my whistling,” Bramble added, “It’ll give us a tune to keep you both awake.”

With that, she started to think, finding a tune as she cocked her head to the side, straining for anything that wasn’t Fíli’s or Gandalf’s. The melody that came to mind was light and high, but contrasted with itself in lower parts, pieces no Hobbit should be able to whistle. It would guide her directly to the Dwarrow, whose songs she knew would resonate with the lower parts of the song.

The only real problem was her doing it around _people_ , because their songs would resonate and she would have a hard time not singing. She didn’t even dare hum around anyone else, most of the time, but now it was…it was necessary. Much as she hated doing this near anyone, she had to do it now.

She only hoped they didn’t notice anything off about her whole performance while she did so.

She forced those thoughts away, and after a few false starts, managed to start whistling. Her song wasn’t quite the song of the Shire, but was the song she’d heard faintly, once or twice, in her dreams. It leapt over bubbling brooks and bathed in warm sunlight, taking her high into the mountains and through the forests beyond as the notes grew loud, searching for _other_ songs in the near vicinity.

She heard a sharp intake of breath to her left-Gandalf-as his song began to enter the whistling tune, weaving through it with a sense of…she couldn’t quite tell what, in part because just then Fíli’s trumpet sounded near her ear and his drums began to beat the tune of the Shire, accompanying her whistling. And in part, she couldn’t quite tell because she didn’t know enough about Gandalf to tell.

Not daring to glance to either side as Fíli stiffened in his saddle, gasping as his song wove itself together with her whistled tune, and then, faintly, something else joined it, she stared directly ahead. A path began to open before them as this faint, _other_ thing began to resonate against her song, something that felt…vaguely asleep, strangely enough. As they watched, trees shuffled aside, moving their roots back and drawing away from the dirt path that was forming before them. Her song began to speak of her helpful (albeit somewhat annoying) Uncle Tom, and she almost felt the Forest stand at attention, as it were.

Bramble nudged Minty forward as the pony’s song began to resonate against her whistling, and then began to flow through her. It was quickly followed by the songs of Fíli’s pony and of Gandalf’s horse, all three of them whinnying once as they followed her, as if to acknowledge they heard her. She could feel Fíli and Gandalf watching her, as well as the forest around them, as her tune changed, whistling up a small breeze to blow the last of the pollen away from them.

Roots and branches moved away from both Fíli and Gandalf’s faces as she rode, warmth beating in her chest with her heartbeat and filling the air with the song. She followed it, the faint strain of thrumming resonance, through the Forest; a closer listen told her it was Balin’s song, resonating against hers. Fíli’s trumpet blared out the moment she took a breath and Bramble was hard-put not to let out a happy laugh.

It felt so _good_ to whistle like this, even if she was still keeping her strangeness to herself. It was odd, but then, everything Bramble did was odd. Most Hobbits wouldn’t bother being in here to begin with, yet, here she sat, whistling her way through the Old Forest, feeling their songs resonating against her, and in her chest. Her feet began to twitch; if she could just dance along with the whistling, she would- _no_!

Bramble shook herself, forcing her mind back on track and away from how warm she felt.

She had to find the rest of the Company. She was pushing it with her self-control as it was, and the herb wouldn’t last if she did _any_ more than whistle. The faint warmth in her chest was warning enough for that.

Balin’s song grew louder as Minty started trotting forward, and Bramble tightened her hold on Minty, shifting her whistled tune in response.

Bramble followed the source of his song to Balin, who was sitting astride his pony, both of them leaning up against a tree. And fast asleep. He looked peaceful, as did his pony, though the two of them would need to wake for them to continue.

Bramble paused, and just in time, as Fíli cried out “Mister Balin!” his song filled with concern.

“Slow down,” warned Bramble, the words sounding strange to her ears, her throat still filled with the whistling, warbling song.

Her voice sounded nothing like it usually did, retaining the music she’d just been whistling through the air, and Gandalf shot her a strange look. She flushed, trying to shake the music out of her voice and head, but she knew it was a fruitless endeavor. She rarely whistled, and never sang; thus when she did either she could barely stop, and the music would never leave her. Not completely, though she could pull it out of her voice.

“Can you wake him like you did me?” Fíli asked, hope swelling against her through her song.

She was taken aback by how _strong_ his song still was, even with the influence of the herb on her ears. No wonder she’d had so much trouble standing the other day, if all of the Dwarrow had songs like him! Balin’s song pressed into her as soon as Fíli asked her, and she felt for it, feeling along his song to see if that itself could wake him. He twitched, but did not stir, though he was closer to waking than before. Close enough that whistling would wake him.

Bramble nodded, trotting up to Balin, and took a deep breath, seizing onto Balin’s song before whistling a few notes of it into the air; she followed up by whistling a few notes of his pony’s song.

Instantly, Balin and his pony jerked awake, the pony trotting forwards a few steps and whinnying at her. Bramble smiled apologetically as Balin stared around them, blinking.

“Fíli, lad? What happened? The last thing I remember was following Master Bramble down the path…” he started, catching sight of her. “And what was that noise?”

“Mister Bramble can whistle _really_ well,” Fíli offered, uncertainty threading its way through his song. “I’m not sure what it is, Balin, but he whistled and the forest opened up.”

Bramble bit her tongue hard when Balin looked at her, trying to fight the rising flush of heat in her cheeks, “Is that so, lad? Will you whistle for us, then?”

She cleared her throat, hoping to get rid of the musical quality her voice had taken on, and nodded.

“I will,” she was relieved to hear her voice go back to normal. “Here, Master Balin. Add this to your waterskin, and take it out before a minute has passed,” she passed him one of the nasty herb pouches. “Master Fíli did not care for the flavor, but you need to drink at least half a waterskin of it to stay awake.”

“It’s _disgusting_ , but it works,” Fíli agreed, “It’ll keep the forest from putting you to sleep, which it likes to do. Apparently it really likes Mister Bramble.”

Balin turned an incredulous look on Bramble, who flushed “Yes, well, the forest might like me but I hadn’t thought it would go so far as to kidnap my companions to keep me here.” She grimaced “Which is why we are delayed. I will help you find them; after all it is _my_ fault we are delayed so, Master Balin.”

“Nonsense, lad,” said Balin, taking the herb pouch out and downing half the waterskin in three gulps. He shuddered “You weren’t kidding,” he grimaced, putting the mint in his mouth, looking very much like he wanted to scrape the taste out of his mouth. “What’s in this pouch, Mister Bramble?”

Bramble shrugged “A southern chili blend, lots of ginger, very strong black tea, bergamot, cardamom, lots of cinnamon, cherry blossoms, and a bit of chamomile leaf, to keep the drinker from becoming overly nervous. It’s the strongest blend I have.”

“Aye, and even stronger than coffee,” Balin agreed. “Now, lad; we were going to find the others?” the tree reached out to stop him, and Bramble whistled a warning.

The tree’s branch stopped, suddenly blooming in apology, and Bramble nodded towards the branches. “Yes, we’re off to find the others. They won’t be far, and unless I’m mistaken, one of them has probably found his way to Old Man Willow. We’d best be off, and stay with me; the Forest won’t hurt you if you stay near me.”

Balin raised another eyebrow, spying the branch “It tried to grab me?” he started, moving his pony away. “Why?”

“It doesn’t want me to leave,” said Bramble, whistling one more note to keep the path open. “Now, we’ve got to move, Master Balin. The longer the Forest has a Dwarf, the more likely it is to try and remove your weapons. You were lucky; the others may not be.”

Balin trotted over to Fíli, handing the younger Dwarf his reins, and nodded to her. With that, they were off again, and Bramble began to whistle again, this time catching a few notes from Balin’s song and weaving them into the song. She heard all three of her companions gasp, but focused on moving _forwards_ , else they were going to have a great deal of trouble.

*-*-*-*-*

Bramble had been right to keep them together; finding the other Dwarrow went over with the Forest about as well as leaving the Shire would with a native Hobbit who wasn’t a Took or Brandybuck. Her whistling was the only thing keeping the path there, at times, and it took them much longer to find Dwalin than it had Balin-and he was only the third Dwarf that had gone missing. Luckily he and Dori were kept in the same place, as well as the young lady Dwarf, Ori, and her thief brother, whatever his name was. The four of them were entangled in what seemed to be a web of vines, songs pulsing against her whistling as the group of four of them entered the clearing.

“Oh, _brilliant_ ,” Bramble broke off whistling to mutter, her voice soft and filled with the same melody she’d just been whistling.

Taking a deep breath, Bramble rested one hand on her instrument, and looked directly at the tree. Three sharp notes escaped her mouth, not quite whistled and not quite sung, and from there, she began to whistle a much sharper, _stronger_ song. The Finding song had worked just fine to find Balin.

But this one was much sharper, and more commanding. It was only gentle in turns, and had a very different melody, the pace of which she set by tapping her fingertips against her instrument. Bramble ignored everything save for the trees, which began to shudder, trying to hold the Dwarrow closer, but to no avail.

Dwalin was the first to wake, with a start, bellowing as he began to fight the vines that were constricting his movement. The trees had to let him go lest he chop off one of their vines.

The second to wake was Dori, adding his sharp melody to the song; he all but _ripped_ the vines off himself and he and Dwalin would’ve ripped them off Ori and Nori if Bramble hadn’t stopped them short with a high note. She continued the sounds, scolding the tree until it released the other two Dwarrow, and their ponies as well, who had been tied to the trees by way of branches growing through their bridle straps.

Bramble finished with a final warning three notes, and fell silent, breathing a little harder as she fought down the warmth trying to escape through her throat. She would _not_ sing here, not now, but she couldn’t let Dwalin hurt the Forest. It would never let them leave if he did.

Dwalin drew his axe, glaring at the tree; the magic of the music was only palatable, only _real_ if Bramble was singing. She opened her mouth to scold him, but someone else beat him to it.

“Dwalin, son of Nwalin, if you chop down that tree, so help me I will leave you for the trees in this forest!” Bramble breathed a sigh of relief as Gandalf took over.

“It tried to trap us here!” Dwalin tried to argue.

“And it did so out of love, misguided though it was,” Gandalf retorted, as Dori was looking over his siblings. His song resonated against theirs, and though there was a bit of discord between him and his brother, it was mostly filled with relief. “This forest is old, Master Dwalin, and if you chop down any of its trees, it will tear you to pieces before you leave,” he softened “It bears a great love for your burglar, and would not see Bramble leave forever.”

“I’m not leaving forever, you silly forest,” Bramble shook her head, trotting Minty up to the large tree in the center. “I’m coming back, even if it’s not to stay. I promise. But you can’t keep doing this to my companions; what would Uncle Tom say, if he caught you at it?”

She heard the song of the Old Forest then, distantly weaving its way through the branches with the way the trees spoke. It was grudging, but it was going to let her pass. And it would let her take the Dwarrow with her; it didn’t want any of the axe-wielders present.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” Bramble asked, looking up at the big tree. “Keep your cousins in line for me, please,” she patted the trunk, switching to Hobbitish, “I know you like me, a lot, but I can’t stay here. I’ll suffocate in the Shire, and as brilliant as this forest is, I need to see the mountains too.”

The trees rumbled in discontent, but didn’t argue with her. The sounds reminded her of a group of dejected dogs, who had just been told they couldn’t follow their master. She felt a little downcast, but there was really nothing she could do. If the trees suddenly uprooted themselves and moved to follow her she had no doubt they would be used for firewood, or worse.

“I’ll come back to get some seeds of yours, I promise. I just can’t promise they’ll make it with me this time,” Bramble bargained with the tree for a moment, ignoring the thunderous _crash_ of surprise from behind her as the Dwarrow realized what she was doing. “Okay?”

Another rumble, but this time the trees seemed calmer. _Warmth-affection_ was sent her way this time, and Bramble smiled.

“Thank you,” she said, patting the tree trunk. “Carry on my message, please? I don’t like leaving, but some of you are a bit more possessive than others. And where have the others got to?”

The tree above her and in front of her groaned, its branch reaching out to touch her hand, and then snaking past it to touch her forehead. Bramble went rigid at the contact, feeling it _open_ to her in that way most trees did not, not these days at least. She welcomed it, welcomed the warm familiarity of the bark and _soil_ beneath her toes-

_-Thorin, sitting asleep in a part of the forest with a large open clearing, right ahead of her. He looked peaceful, though none of his weapons had been removed, and the trees were taking care of him. Warmth-affection-annoyance-the rotund Dwarf snoozing next to his large pony by another tree, both bound by vines-the Dwarf with the funny hat snoozing on the other side of the tree-the injured Dwarf who only spoke Khuzdûl patting a flower, and looking very annoyed but remaining where he was, trapped by the tree-Óin, sleeping next to Glóin underneath a large oak tree-Kíli, slowly riding out on the Barrow-Downs, away from the Forest and into danger-urgent-DANGER-HURRY-_

The tree broke contact and Bramble slumped a little, trying hard to calm her racing heart. She took a few deep breaths, shaking as Ori’s song whistled through the air, and Fíli’s trumpet blared alongside it.

“Mister Bramble?” the scribe’s quiet voice startled her, shot through with a high flute melody, and Bramble swallowed, turning her pony to look at Ori. The female Dwarf flushed a little “Uh, I was just-wondering,” she stammered “U-um, a-are you _talking_ to the tree?”

Bramble froze. She’d forgotten they were there, in her urgency to get the trees to leave her _alone_ , and she bit her tongue, trying to keep from giving away just what was happening. Hobbits couldn’t talk to trees-only Elves could, and she really didn’t want the Dwarrow to lump her in with Elves.

Ori hurried on “M-Master Dwalin doesn’t b-believe me, b-but Mister Fíli said you whistled, just like b-before, when you found Master B-Balin and m-made the trees m-move. I-I was wondering, w-were you talking t-to them? A-and can all Hobbits understand trees, or were you just th-thinking? I-I thought only Elves could talk to trees, but I-well, I m-might be wrong.”

Bramble sighed. Her gifts were going to become a problem, but hopefully she could keep as much of them from the Dwarrow as possible. It wasn’t going to do her any favors to be viewed as an Elf-Hobbit. Besides, there was the _slight_ chance she could prove useful to their Company…and maybe they’d stop looking at her like she was useless if she managed to save them.

“Elves can _sing_ to trees,” she corrected, “What I did wasn’t singing. I,” she paused, clearing her throat and taking a sip from her waterskin. “What I did was…something most people don’t see me do,” confessed Bramble, smiling a little in embarrassment. “I learned the Old Forest listens to me, from an…uncle of mine, Uncle Tom, many years ago. So, while Elves can sing to trees, he taught me to talk to them, though they don’t talk like you or I do. They speak in pictures and tones, and most of all, they listen to and speak in _music_.”

Ori gasped “S-So you _were_ talking to the tree, w-weren’t you, Mister Bramble?” she asked.

Bramble winked “Just between you and me, Master Ori, I was asking the tree where our companions were taken.” She swallowed, thinking of the Barrow-Downs “We’ve got to go. Master Kíli is riding into the Barrow-Downs, and he will never return today, not if we don’t catch up with him. Without Uncle Tom around, our best bet is to stay with Gandalf across that land, as there dwell the spirits of dead and far, far worse.”

Ori gasped “W-we’ve got to go!” she turned her pony quickly, and Bramble trotted over to the rest of the group.

She noticed that as the two of them approached the group, everyone seemed to be staring at her, and not Ori. That was fine-she was expecting it, after all.   After admitting to _that_ , she could hardly expect any less around Dwarrow.

Bramble looked to Fíli “Do you have any rope in your bag?”

“Yes,” Bramble nodded to his saddlebags, “Why?”

“I need you to tie the ponies together, and keep your reins with me,” she said, glaring at one of the mischievous trees. “Cut that out,” she hissed at the trees, trying not to let it come out in a sing-song voice, succeeding by the skin of her teeth.

The Old Forest was strong. Strong enough to resist her commands, should it try to break free-she was not Uncle Tom, after all. But Bramble could put together her own defenses in time, and hopefully, _hopefully_ , it would be enough to get them out alive. Fíli tied the reins of the Dwarf behind him to his own, tossing them back to Bramble when she realized she’d dropped them.

Fíli cleared his throat “Ah, Mister Bramble?”

“Yes?” Bramble could almost hear the confusion in his song, faint though it was at this point. She had to resist the urge to bite her tongue, since the herb was going to wear off by the afternoon. “What is it?”

“I was hoping you had more of that-strong drink, perhaps? To keep us all awake,” he fumbled, “I didn’t drink all of it.”

Considering this for a moment, Bramble deduced that the drink’s effects were probably best split between Dwarrow, in case they should need it again. After all, she could re-make the herbal mixture, but she had no doubt the plants on the road were different and therefore would have different effects on the Dwarrow. This mixture would have soothed her headaches, but naught else-she’d been right in guessing it would keep the Dwarrow awake, though.

It worked much the same way with Men and Elves, after all.

“Share it,” Bramble instructed him, “Master Dwalin, Master Dori, if you would consent to sharing waterskis with your siblings?” she inquired, as Ori was eyeing her curiously.

“Tha’ depends,” Dwalin said, eyeing her suspiciously. She could hear it ringing through his song-he didn’t trust her one inch. “What’s it do?”

Confound Dwarrow and their innate stubborn nature. They were going to _lose_ the rest of the Company in this accursed forest, if they didn’t do this, and she didn’t have time to dilly-dally if she wanted to save Kíli. Bramble took a deep breath and slowly counted to ten to keep her frustration under wraps.

“It keeps you awake, Master Dwalin,” said Gandalf, before Bramble could speak up. “And makes you resistant to any sort of song or poison that attempts to put you to sleep, even the powerful suggestions of this forest.”

Dwalin looked over at Bramble in surprise, and she shrugged, trying to ignore the sudden resonance between his song and the rest of them as it echoed through her ears. All of them- _all_ , save Gandalf, were feeling that in unison. Eru, she was going to be utterly bloody useless if this kept happening! It was almost like she hadn’t even taken the herb mixture this morning before they left!

“Might I have your recipe for it?” Dori inquired, as Bramble passed Fíli three herb pouches. “And how much do we need?”

“Half a waterskin each, if they’re about Fíli’s size,” Bramble replied, wincing as an urgent sense of _DANGER_ rolled through her from the Forest around them. She swallowed. Please, let it just be the aftereffects of the vision. Please. “Share the waterskins and keep some on hand,” she cautioned, “just in case-oh, and take that out in exactly three minutes, or you will be sorry!” she warned Ori.

Startled, Ori pulled it out exactly on time, as did her brother Dori, and Dwalin “Why might that be, Mister Bramble?” she asked.

Bramble snorted “It makes you act rather like a drunken chipmunk-both incredibly loud and incredibly fast. But the price is not worth paying, given that you have no self-control and no memory of the events later.”

The Dwarrow eyed the drink with considerably more caution this time, and then Dori tried it, wincing at the flavor “Why would anyone drink so much of it?” he asked, confused.

Bramble chuckled, thinking back to the last time Elladan had visited the Shire. “He only drank a mouthful of it, and it was on a dare. I believe a mischievous fauntling thought it would be funny to watch an Elf starting to sing ballads and dancing like a crazed chipmunk through the Shire.”

Most of the living Hobbits now didn’t really remember that night, but Bramble did. It had been her twenty-first birthday, and she’d found it _hilarious_. That being said, it had been _quite_ some time ago; not that she thought Gandalf remembered. Bramble didn’t know how much he knew, but the idea of it doing such a thing to an Elf was meant to warn them.

She was not prepared for the sudden spike of mirth and happy, light tones through all of their songs as they downed half the herbal mix. Dwalin was the first to break down into guffaws, and was shortly joined by the rest of the Dwarrow, and Gandalf, who had been present to see Elladan completely lose his composure and act like a child again. Mirth and happy songs filled Bramble’s chest, warming her as she remembered Elladan.

Elladan, who had never, _never_ lived that down in her generation of faunts. Their laughter was infectious, but Bramble could only manage a light chuckle, trying very hard not to let her laughter join the group’s, no matter how funny it was. It was too noticeable, and too musical, for her to feel comfortable letting it loose at all.

And besides, it would out her as a woman if she laughed.

Fíli called “Would’ve been quite a sight, seeing an Elf prancing around like that. Wait,” he looked at Bramble, “Why was an Elf in the Shire anyway?”

“It’s a bit of a long story, and I’ll tell you as we ride,” Bramble promised, the trees’ alarm growing a little bit louder “Honestly, I will-we just need to move, before the _things_ Uncle Tom usually takes care of come out.” She saw Gandalf glance at her warily, and she gestured to the Dwarrow “Well, hurry up now; we haven’t got all day!”

Time was ticking by. Precious time she could be using to save the Dwarrow still captured in the Forest. The Company laughed again, falling into place behind her with Fíli just behind her. She urged Minty into a canter, followed by the Dwarrow.

“Don’t you have to whistle to find them?” asked Fíli as they started to speed up.

Bramble cursed, having forgotten about that; she began to whistle again, this time a little more intently as the path opened up before them. The Forest brushed against her, trying to fill it with her song, but she defied it, whistling a sharp, warning tune against it until the resonance began to show her the way to the missing Dwarrow. The Dwarrow might be disappointed, but she had to get to them, and fast.

Before the Trees, or something bigger, came after them. The Forest was afraid, but of what, she couldn’t be sure right now. It couldn’t be anything good-the last time she had come up against this, it had been because of the Fell Winter, so many years ago. The same winter she’d lost both her parents.

That didn’t bode well for the Dwarrow she had yet to rescue.

*-*-*-*-*-*

As they were cresting the hill to get to the clearing where Óin, Glóin, the one who couldn’t speak anything other than Khuzdûl, and his cousins, lay, their songs suddenly, abruptly weakened. Faintly, she felt Kíli-the dark-haired one-ring out, and a pulse of something dark and _so, so cold_ crashed into her through the songs. Bramble went rigid as a cold chill swept through her, emptying her of all feeling for a second before she felt it, like a sliver of ice through her heart, and something white-hot erupted into her chest. She gasped, trying to breathe as her whistling song was cut off and the Forest began to creak and groan beneath the- _foulness_ she could feel.

Eru, but it was awful. Bramble began to shiver, despite the warmth of the day, feeling the chill settling through her into her bones even as the heat in her chest began to expand.

Bramble tried not to cry as she slumped in her saddle, forcing the Dwarrow and Gandalf to a halt. She couldn’t even _breathe_ ; by Eru, but it _burned_ at her, like something from beyond the Halls of Mandos.

Whatever it was, Bramble would give anything not to accidentally start destroying the Forest. The white-hot flame in her chest was driving back the cold, but if she whistled _now_ , she ran the risk of her herb wearing off.

“Mister Bramble?” Fíli’s voice echoed through her mind, even as she tried to push back the black, oily feeling of _wrong_ that had started to invade her very insides. Something was definitely wrong. “Mister Bramble, are you all right?”

Bramble took a shuddering gasp, squinting up at the sunlight outlining Fíli, so faint she would have missed it had she not been paying closer attention-it wasn’t sunlight. It couldn’t be. It was something else, since it was outlining his whole body. If not for _right now_ , she would not have seen it at all.

Fíli, unlike his uncle, was at least not wreathed in blue fire. He was wreathed in a soft gold, and his song was quieter than normal, too, with the cold-she grabbed for it, listening intently as she tried to ground herself.

“I…” she couldn’t even really speak, not with the vice grip on her chest.

“Tharkûn!” shouted Fíli, or it seemed like he was shouting-was he? “Tharkûn, something’s happened to our burglar!”

Gandalf began to trot forward, and Bramble tried, gasping, to breathe again, but she couldn’t even really suck in a deep breath of air. Her eyes slipped closed, just for a second- _Kíli was thrown from his pony, flying through the air into ghostly arms-he was pale, unmoving, as skeletal hands grasped him-his eyes were closed and his skin was ghostly white-he was dragged along the ground, into a hole-no warmth, no fire, nothing to light-he was fading, he couldn’t breathe-_a warm hand on her shoulder snapped her eyes open again.

“I say, now,”said Gandalf, looking down at her with a warm twinkle in his eyes “Are you all right?”

“I,” Bramble coughed, gasping for air again but this time, she _could_ breathe. “I think so. I…Fíli, we have to go, _now_.” She could feel herself shaking, “The Forest-it-it warned me, oh Eru,” she breathed, shaking her head “We have to find the others, _now_!”

She couldn’t sit here. Not with the heat in her chest, trying to kindle its way into a roaring bonfire, and not with the danger Kíli was in. Not now. That-that- _thing_ had him, and it wasn’t going to let him go, it was so _hungry_ …

“What do you mean, my dear Hobbit?” Gandalf was staring down at her, his double-timbred song echoing with concern “Are you well?”

Well? WELL? She was fine. She could keep going; that didn’t mean anything, when it came to Kíli’s wellbeing. He was being taken into the darkness and he was going to slip away from them if they didn’t get there soon, and they were only halfway through this blasted forest! She had to ask the trees for help…

Ask the trees? They wanted to keep her here.

But she had no choice. She had to find Tom.

“I told you, I’m fine,” she shrugged off Gandalf’s hand “Trust me on this, Gandalf.” In Quenya, she added “Kíli _needs us. We have to move quickly; something’s taken him.”_

At the sound of Bramble’s first word in Quenya, Gandalf’s eyes went wide. He locked eyes with her, staring into them as if his searching, deep gray-blue eyes could see into her very soul. Bramble didn’t care what he saw; she didn’t have time for that.

No one deserved the fate Kíli had set out for him if they didn’t fight off that Wight.

 _“How do you know this?”_ Gandalf replied in the same language, visibly shaken. Any other time, Bramble might have been stunned at managing to shock the wizard _“What told you?”_

Bramble swallowed. She had sworn to her mother to keep her gifts a secret, but that seemed to mean very little, in comparison to the danger Kíli was in right now. That power of hers might save him, and it might not but the Dwarrow would never trust her if she showed that. She couldn’t just outright _show_ her peculiarities.

But maybe Gandalf could help her. Maybe he would believe her.

 _“You saw me,”_ whispered Bramble, “ _The trees told me, now we have to_ move _or he will_ die.” She took a deep breath and whistled four sharp notes, crystal-clear against the air, sending a shiver down everyone’s spine save her own.

The resonance of the brothers’ songs was much louder now. Thank Eru-had the forest moved them closer? Bramble doubted it, but it might have tried to help her. She took a deep breath, turning Minty towards the path that opened up before them at the sound of the whistle. The brothers Óin and Glóin were this way, and the cousins, with the addled Dwarf were just beyond them. Trotting forward, she missed the befuddled gazes of the Dwarrow on her back, and the contemplative look on Gandalf’s face as she held the warmth tightly in her chest, keeping it compressed to a small spark, driving away the cold.

In no time at all, they came upon the brothers Óin and Glóin. Óin had woken up a few moments ago and was shouting abuse in Khuzdûl, struggling against his bonds and a tree branch gag. He looked somewhat hilarious, especially as Glóin slumbered on.

Bramble didn’t even bother getting down from her pony, seeing their ponies grazing in the grass next to the trees.

She whistled. She didn’t have time to be afraid, not now; not even with the fear pulsing through her chest, making her heartbeat quick like a sparrow’s and lighter on her feet than normal, as well. She whistled once in warning, and the tree shrank back, Glóin stirring against the bark-he had to be Glóin, because he had red hair and Óin had graying, darker red hair.

“I said, let him go,” hissed Bramble, whistling very, _very_ sharply this time, sharply enough that she noticed Ori wince. “I’m sorry, Master Ori,” she said, right as the tree dropped both of them, limbs snapping back sharply as it creaked at her, warningly. “You, behave,” she muttered, staring down the tree “You know where I’m going.”

The tree creaked in return, groaning out a reply in an image and a short story all in one- _Bramble, lying on her back as skeletal hands pulled her deeper into its hole/hunger-pain-fear-sick-desire-_ Bramble shook her head to clear it of the pollen the tree had used to send the image. She stared it down, refusing to admit to the way color began to fade from her cheeks, before she remembered the spark, and held onto it. She had never been outside the borders of the Shire before. But she had no time now.

She was the only one who even knew how to find Kíli in the Barrow-Downs. If that meant going up against this- _sick thing_ , whatever it was, she would do it. She could not consign Kíli to a soulless death with Fíli looking on and mourning.

“Up you get, Master Óin,” she said, when Óin finally finished cursing, tossing him the herbs she had used “Share this with your brother, and leave it in your cold water for three minutes, no longer, lest you end up the way the Elf that tried to imbibe that drink on a dare did.”

“Ye still haven’t told that story!” shouted Dwalin as Óin dropped the herbs into the water.

Bramble smirked “Well, the Elf in question might just kill me if he knew I told Dwarrow about it.” She caught Óin’s eye as he lifted the herb bundle out, sniffing at it. “Master Óin, we need to hurry,” she said, “I will share the recipe for these with you later, but right now, Master Kíli is in grave danger and we need to find him.”

Kíli’s name made Fíli trot up beside her, which made Minty snort. As Óin bellowed at Glóin until he took the other half, and both of them complained about the bitterness, Fíli turned to her.

“What d’you mean, my brother’s in danger?” Fíli’s warm eyes were narrowed and his song was filled with cold, harsh fear and more than a little anger “Why didn’t you say so _before_?”

Bramble gritted her teeth against the pressure of his song. The visions the Forest seemed intent on giving her were making the herb’s effect weaken, and Fíli sounded ever louder, driving her to feel sicker and sicker every time he did this. The _feeling_ in his song was so deep it might have made her cry, were she completely and totally unblocked.

“Because before,” she managed through the pressure of all of their songs, which had quickly followed Fíli’s in surrounding her “The Forest wasn’t _terrified_ of what was happening to him. Why,” she took another breath against the pressure, and the heat in her ribcage, which she was surprised hadn’t seared through the chest binding at least “do you think I stopped just now? Believe me, I want to find him,” she had to take another breath “as much as you do, Master Fíli.”

“What does that mean, lad?” Glóin asked as he finished the waterskin and mounted “The Forest is afraid?”

Bramble swallowed at the suspicion in his song “I can hear the Forest, Master Glóin,” she explained quickly “The trees. They speak in pictures, sensations and other things but the sense of _need_ is too strong for me to ignore. Now, we really need to _move_ , and find the last members of the Company before we go after Master Kíli. Believe me, whatever’s taken him is stronger than anything you’ve ever faced; the Forest is only frightened if things like Orcs and Goblins exist within their branches.”

And it had never been as coldly terrified as it was now, not in all of her lifetime. The urgency was enough to make the two Dwarrow fall in line very quickly, back with Dwalin and Balin, their horses tied together. Gandalf trotted up beside her, but slightly to the right as they made their way quickly to the remaining Dwarrow-aside from Thorin and Kíli.

“Check your saddlebags,” Bramble called “I wouldn’t trust this Forest not to steal from you!” The Dwarrow did a quick cursory check, but nothing was missing-not even from Gandalf’s saddlebags. “Good,” she said, as they came upon the large oak.

The cousins were all lashed to an oak tree close to their ponies, each with their own saddlebags. From here on out, Bramble knew the Forest would be trying much harder to keep her here, despite originally allowing her to pass, so it might not listen to her as easily as it should have. That being said, she had a weapon of her own to use against it, should it _try_ to keep her here.

“Master Bifur,” she greeted, seeing that the addled Dwarf was awake, and gently stroking one of the blossoms attached to the tree branches holding him in place.

The tree creaked as he smiled, greeting her in Khuzdûl, his song resonating against those of his cousins as his eyes seemed to light up a little. It was strangely respectful, for one of the Company at least-the rest of them had all but dismissed her as a grocer before now. But that didn’t mean much, given that she endeavored to resemble something like a grocer-even if it did sting a little to be considered as such.

“Let him go,” she said, looking dead at the oak. The oak creaked, but nothing happened. Bramble frowned “Do we really need to go through this again?” she had had enough with this old forest.

Whatever darkness was out there in the forest, it seemed to be deliberately impeding her attempts at getting closer to it. She whistled sharply, the commanding note almost enough to make the Forest drop it, but not quite. The tree defiantly held all three Dwarrow up in front of her, moving them so they weren’t touching the ground. Bramble felt the heat in her chest constrict slightly, the spark growing hotter, and she took a deep breath, reveling in the warmth it brought her and the way the shadow seemed to retreat a little.

Then she began to whistle again, which might not have been strong enough save for the fact that she was deliberately whistling the tune of the Old Forest. The trees creaked and groaned, a strong breeze picking up and blowing through the clearing as it slowly deposited the three Dwarrow on the ground, releasing the sole imprisoned pony as well as the other two’s saddles and bridles. She kept whistling, the leaping sounds of the Old Forest younger than any she had ever sounded out before, but it was enough to make the trees retreat a little from the path.

Slumping a little, Bramble glanced down at the three Dwarrow. She was really straining at the limits of the herb’s power now. Bifur seemed to be staring at her a little too intently for comfort, and she could tell the rest of the Company was staring at her as if they had never seen her before. even Gandalf, which was starting to make her wish she could squirm away and hide in here. Their eyes were intent on her back, thankfully, and not on her front or they might have noticed.

At least the last two Dwarrow were being more polite. The one with the tight, springy dark braids and old hat appeared to be gaping at her, while the addled one said something reverently in Khuzdûl and bowed his head to her. She had the feeling it was out of respect, from what she could see of his face.

The second one, the one with the weird hat, stared at her, mouth open in shock “Are ye serious, Bif?” he managed, in Common this time. His song rang through her head with a loud _clang-crash_ , white flickering around him temporarily “Really?”

“What’s the matter?” asked the kindly-sounding round one. “What’s the rush for?” his song rang with confusion, resonating with the addled one’s and the addled one’s cousin’s songs.

“Get your stuff an’ git moving,” Dwalin barked, “Now! Form a line, use the drink Mister Baggins gives ye to stay awake, and follow us-we got ta move, _quick_!”

At least one of them seemed to be taking her warning seriously. Though, Bramble amended, Master Dwalin was probably taking it at face value because they couldn’t afford for her to be wrong; not because he trusted her to be telling the truth.

Dwalin’s orders, though, did the trick, as the three Dwarrow quickly snapped out of their daze and ran to their ponies. Things flew this way and that, cymbals crashing around her ears and drums pounding in unison as they scrambled for their ponies, hitching their weapons on and connecting themselves to the line. It only took them moments to be completely ready to leave-well, moments to her, which could have been a lot longer.

The wind was roaring through her ears and her stomach was turning flips. The Old Forest was pressing at her senses, working against her suppressions and forcing her to try and take a breath to whistle. Darkness loomed at the edges of her vision, which also swam with dark spots. The Dwarrow’s songs began to roar into her ears, distant and yet closer than they had ever been before. The pressure was building and Bramble could barely breathe, let alone whistle.

The only thing she could do was hold onto her pony’s saddle.

Then the pressure eased, vanishing as quickly as it had come.

It was only for a moment, but for all Bramble knew it could have been a lot longer. They could have entered Rivendell and she wouldn’t have known. She sat in her saddle, dizzily breathing in and out, and trying not to cough or scream in fright. Screaming would make her look like a nutter, and coughing would mean she was sick, which she wasn’t. She didn’t have time for this.

Someone touched her arm, thankfully _through_ the shirt sleeve, and shook it gently. Bramble jerked, looking up into the sharply-lined face of an Elf-Gandalf.

“Are you well enough to continue, my dear Hobbit?” he asked, concerned.

“Y-yeah, fine,” Bramble stammered, cursing herself for letting her concentration slip. The Dwarrow were gathered now “We need to find Master Oakenshield.” She cleared her throat, and looked at the forest meaningfully.

Because who knew what would be waiting for them when they finally caught up with Kíli. For all she knew, it could mean Kíli’s death, or worse. All she knew was what she had seen not fifteen minutes before, and that if she had seen it, it would happen eventually.

“Then lead on,” said Gandalf, his eyes twinkling curiously down at her.

Well, drat. That was a problem she’d have to explain away at some point. There was no way Gandalf would let his questions lie for long enough for her to come up with a decent lie, or explain it away as suddenly feeling faint. He knew Hobbits too well for him to believe that.

Perhaps _after_ she found the last two Dwarrow she could explain herself to Gandalf.

“Aye,” said Bramble, taking a deep breath and stretching out.

She almost instantly regretted it, as the songs of eleven Dwarrow thundered against her mind, temporarily deafening her before Gandalf’s song got in the way, distracting her. She couldn’t hear Thorin’s song over this, but her skin wasn’t tingling like it had been since she was around him, so he wasn’t around here. The Forest’s song pushed at her, trying to keep her here, and separate her from the songs of the Dwarrow, but she pushed back against it, starting to whistle again. Whistling pushed the Forest’s song back after a moment, though she could sense it was only grudgingly doing so. It hated her song, every note of it, for forcing it to stay away from her.

She tried not to think about what that meant about the Forest. It wasn’t good, and it really would have made her sick had she thought about it for too long.

As her warbling whistle rose and fell into a sharper, almost _hunt-like_ melody, a path opened beyond where the last three Dwarrow had been trapped with their ponies. She took this path immediately, whistling notes that would resonate more deeply with Thorin’s song than any other-though Fíli’s song kept resonating as well, and she could hear him gasping as the more similar notes resonated with his song. The Dwarrow were also more alert, and on the lookout helping _her_ , which helped as every time one of them yelped she whistled a quick four-note sequence that had the Forest retreating.

It really didn’t like what she was doing, but it liked going against her even less.

After about half an hour, during about half of which Bramble felt they had been walking in circles, Bramble finally felt the familiar tingling resonance against her skin that meant Thorin was nearby. The song had been lightly resonating for the last two minutes, but this meant they were getting closer. And while she hated it, it was easy to find him since his song played merry havoc with her senses.

From the sounds of it, he was also starting to wake up. He was also very, very much _angry_ with his situation, the anger powering his song and crashing through her defenses like water breaking a dam. Bramble grimaced at the feeling, trying to rebuild her defenses, but it was like Thorin had trampled right through the dam and over it. She would have to rebuild that later, or she’d get another really, really bad headache. The idea of dealing with an angry, moody Thorin Oakenshield didn’t make her pause, though; she really didn’t want to deal with this. But she had to, or Fíli would lose his brother.

The Forest trembled a little as she started going a little faster, urging Minty onward as the urgency of _finding Kíli_ forced her onward. Bramble kept whistling, and whistling _loud_.

“You blasted son of a-“ she soon heard from the clearing ahead, and trotting forward, she found that there lay Thorin, struggling mightily against the tree.

It was not just any tree that had trapped him, though, and Bramble was not happy to find this, either. Her uncle was not around, or she might have been able to ask his help, but this was _Old Man Willow_. She’d passed Old Man Willow earlier and seen no Dwarf-ah, that had been a clever trick on the Forest’s part. Bramble wasn’t pleased, but the Forest felt smug that she hadn’t managed to see him sooner. She added a few sharper notes to the song, seriously considering adding her fiddle for a few moments because this _bloody_ Forest wanted to keep her so badly.

Thorin was struggling against the willow’s branches, his feet dug into the ground and what looked like stone trying to keep him from going in-but she wasn’t sure, as his feet were also covered in dry leaves. His song was loud, blaring, almost threateningly so, and the blue fire around him threatened to set the tree on fire. Bramble was honestly surprised he hadn’t set the Forest on fire with the way his fire was snapping about. Willow had managed to trap all of Thorin’s limbs in one way or another, but there were a few broken branches and loose stones around, attesting to how difficult it was to keep Thorin still.

Old Man Willow had truly met his match here today, if Thorin was awake and struggling after being captured nearly an hour and a half ago. No Hobbit, Man, or Elf had ever lasted this long against Old Man Willow.

“Ach, let him go,” shouted one of the Dwarrow, followed by an answering roar from the rest of the party. It was-Dori, she thought, still shouting at the tree, “Let him _go_ I said,” bellowed the Dwarf, about to jump down from his horse when Gandalf intervened.

“If you touch that tree, Master Dori, you will be trapped as well. Stay your hand,” he looked to Bramble “I believe we have a mutual friend who frequents the forest around this time?”

She knew who he was talking about, but was somewhat surprised that _Gandalf_ knew him. Tom was a Hobbit legend; she didn’t know how many of the other races he interacted with.

“He’s not around right now,” Bramble replied “He spends today with Goldberry, his wife,” Gandalf sagged, looking wearier than she’d ever seen on an Elf, and she gave Gandalf an encouraging smile “I think I’ve got this. The Forest _likes_ me, Gandalf.”

“Oh, and what can a _Halfling_ do to free me?” snarled Thorin, snapping at her with eyes blazing, filled with blue fire “I suppose you’re just going to sing a little _dolly_ , are you?”

Dolly. That was it. Bramble knew what to do, now; her whistling wasn’t doing much, not with how strong Willow was, but the song-the song _might work_. She just had to work really, really hard at keeping it as…as far away from a real song as possible. If that was possible.

She’d have to, or Thorin would die here, a prisoner of Old Man Willow, and nothing would stop the Company from destroying the Old Forest.

“Hey doll, merry doll,” she said, murmuring just loud enough for Willow to _freeze_ at the sudden use of Tom’s song, and she silently thanked Thorin. “Ring a dong dillo.”

The entire tree froze now, all of its attention focused on her now, letting Thorin wrench himself free of one of the branches holding one of his arms back. He began struggling to free his other arm as the tree started to creak; it swiftly moved to cover him, but Bramble let out a merry, musical laugh, a sound that she knew it would interpret as another threat. The laugh made the tree freeze again, Old Man Willow paying attention to her instead of Thorin.

This let Thorin free his other arm.

“Ho, Tom Bombadil, is a merry fellow,” she continued, swinging her arms along, making it sound as much like a chant as anything “Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow.   Hey! Come, merry doll,” Thorin was still struggling, but the tree was retreating, “Old Man Willow,” she whistled sharply afterward. “Derry doll and Merry-o! Poor Old Willow-man, tuck your roots away,” she was starting to feel the heat in her chest again but Thorin’s weapons were abruptly coming out of nowhere, spat out by the tree, and his pony was quickly ushered away from the roots of the tree as if it had been there the whole time.

So she could press on, for a little bit longer. She could stop when he was free. Bramble just had to focus on keeping the fire from spreading. Holding on tightly to that little sliver of warmth in her chest, Bramble clamped down on it, focusing on the tree, glaring at it and letting it feel the _height_ of her disapproval with its actions.

“”You tuck your roots away, now, ‘fore evenin’ comes an’ the willow grows, bark on the meadow-now,” she was sure she’d mangled some of the words, but the tree snapped back and away at her command, letting Thorin go.

Bramble got the chance to breathe, one last time, before the warmth in her chest strained and tried to ignite, the songs _blasting_ through her ears, leaving her woozy.

She was dimly aware of someone trying to get her attention, even as she swayed in her saddle, the _gong_ resounding through Thorin’s song, filling with anger, and the tickling feeling under her skin, and a warming in her chest, warning her she had gone maybe a bit too far this time. Bramble gasped, managing to throw her head back before she toppled forward and did a flip out of the saddle, trying to center herself, but the Old Forest was too far away for her to hear, now, amidst the Company’s songs and-oh, and _Gandalf’s, too._ Having the warmth in her chest meant the herb wouldn’t work on her, though, so she glanced around, trying to figure out who was speaking to her.

The cacophony of sound was so loud she couldn’t hear for at least a minute, after the herb’s blessed silence wore off…

And then she heard it, a _thunderous_ sound like roaring fire or the clap of a thunderbolt, as Thorin’s enraged face invaded her field of vision and his song overtook her senses. His bells were ringing so loudly she nearly cried out in pain, and he was not a foot from her face now. He was now on his pony, whose name she had long-since forgotten, fire crackling through his song and warming her insides despite her best efforts to ignore it, to ignore the tingling and the sound on her skin, and his anger was pressing in on her from all sides, thundering through her, trying to stoke the fire that still tingled in her chest.

“You,” he seemed to be saying, but she couldn’t make out any more than that.

Bramble had to hold up her hand, because his anger was so acute that it was making it hard to breathe. She was all but gasping now, trying to hold that sliver of warmth in her chest to just a sliver, to keep it from becoming bigger. She couldn’t let it free. She couldn’t let it go. She was aware that the whole Company was staring at her, but right now the warmth and the anger was just making her sick.

Oh Eru, she was going to be sick. She could hardly focus on keeping the nausea down _and_ keeping the warmth away. So she picked, quickly, to keep any further harm from coming to anyone.

“How DARE-” Thorin was cut off from actually speaking to her when Bramble leant down to the left, and promptly vomited up her last three meals.

Thorin’s anger shoved at her, filling her in a way her food couldn’t and increasing her nausea until it was so acute that she couldn’t quit retching. Not until her stomach was _completely_ empty, and she was aware that Minty was moving away from the sick every time it happened, but she could barely stay sat in the saddle. His anger was so strong, so strong it was going to knock her out…

And then it vanished, as quickly as it had come, into a confusion resonating through his entire song. Dizzy, Bramble fumbled, managing to wipe her mouth on a handkerchief and barely keeping her seat as Minty began to prance away from the sick yet again. Thorin’s pony was also moving backwards. She really wasn’t all that aware now, with the way the Dwarrow’s songs invaded the emptiness that followed, in a harmonious cacophony of sound. All of it had just been overwhelmed with Thorin’s roaring anger, but now that that had fizzled down to a more-ah, there it was again, throwing her for a loop.

She’d probably just made a fool of herself, but her head was starting to ache, and if the world could stop spinning, she’d be a lot happier.

“Can the world stop spinning now?” Bramble asked weakly, as she slumped down on Minty’s back, feeling the warmth starting to diminish, thankful she was only touching Minty through clothes, as Thorin pulled his pony up short in surprise. She noticed the Forest starting to weave its way around them and turned, snapping “Don’t you _dare_! I just wasted some perfectly good medicine cleaning up _your_ bloody mess,” she snarled, glaring at Old Man Willow and the Forest around him. “I have _no patience_ to do it again!” The Forest kept moving, though, and Bramble’s voice grew icy “I said, _cut that out, right now_ , before I let them set you on fire.”

The trees abruptly stopped moving. Of course, that could be because someone had come up behind her, and was keeping her from spinning or falling out of her saddle, but still. Her explosion of temper was probably enough to convince Thorin to back off-or at least, to have this ruddy argument out of this _bloody_ Forest that seemed intent on making her sick and exhausted. She really, really hoped that stubborn Dwarf wasn’t going to get it into his head to _blame her_ for all that had just happened.

“Now, now,” said Gandalf, smiling kindly at her “I think the Forest has had quite enough scolding for one day, my dear Hobbit. Are you well enough to continue?” he asked, sending a sharp glare in the direction of the Dwarf she assumed to be Thorin.

It had to be Thorin-the humiliation echoing through his song was sharp enough, sounding a bit like an Elvish horn. She was too tired to smile, or she would. She needed a break, now, but she didn’t have the luxury of one.

“Yeah, just…need some water,” Bramble admitted “I’m all right, Gandalf. Just tired of this place,” she wasn’t lying, either-a wizard could always tell, after all. Sinking forward on her saddle, she grabbed for the waterskin she had doctored, and was surprised to find it gone. Gandalf handed it to her, “Thanks, Gandalf.”

The warmth was gone from her chest, so the herb would actually work. She hoped. The bitter taste of the herb-laced water sent a jolt through her spine, making her shudder, and sit up straight. It contained enough caffeine, and enough cardamom, cinnamon, and vanilla to ease most of her problems, including the headache, and mercifully it would also grant her another reprieve. Bramble straightened after a little bit, drinking a bit more of the doctored water each time, and when she had finally, _finally_ managed to sit up again, the Dwarrow appeared to all be waiting for her.

Although, now, some of them were a bit warier of her than they’d been before, while others, like Ori, seemed to be in awe of her.

It was obvious now, who was on Thorin’s side, and who wasn’t. The ones on Thorin’s side were giving her sidelong looks and muttering something-she thought she could see something about weakness on their lips-and their songs were resonating _badly_ against the ones that weren’t on his side. The resonance was faint, thankfully due to the medicine, or it would have made her sick. The ones that weren’t included Dori, Bifur, and Bofur of course, as Bifur’s translator, as well as Ori and Nori. The others, aside from Fili who just plain didn’t care as long as they found Kili, were on Thorin’s side.

Lovely, they thought _she_ had something to do with this mess. Probably that she’d orchestrated it or some story like it. Just…that was just _bloody_ lovely.

“Just my luck,” mumbled Bramble, not sure which language she was using, as she finished gulping down the herb water. “We need to go, _now_ ,” she raised her voice, earning herself several glares immediately. She ignored it “This forest _likes_ me,” she said, “which is why it’s being so irritating today. It doesn’t want me to leave.”

“Oh, nice and _Elvish_ of you,” snapped Thorin “What next, you call down a battalion of Elves on my Company? If I had my way, I’d leave you in the _Shire_ , right where _you belong_. This is no place for an _Elf-lover._ ”

Seriously, the Dwarf could stand to bloody _think_ for a moment! Couldn’t he see how angry she was about the whole situation?

No, she answered her own question, because if he could, he wouldn’t be shouting at her like this.

Bramble bristled, spitting back “You think I _want_ it to be practically in love with me? I _never asked_ for this!” she snapped “And if my uncle hadn’t been home with his wife _this wouldn’t have happened_! That being said, Master Kíli’s not in the Forest-he’s beyond it,” Thorin moved to object, and she continued, barreling right over him “And the Barrow-Downs is home to several _Wights_ , so you’ll excuse me for wanting to leave the forest as _soon as bloody possible_ to cross the Barrow-Downs before dark and find him before he stumbles down a Wight Barrow!”

That said, Bramble, noticing that they weren’t exactly lashed to her anymore, turned her pony and started toward the edge of the woods at a slow pace, letting her hear what they were saying.

“I don’t trust this Hobbit of yours,” Thorin sneered at Gandalf, obviously not caring who heard him. Gandalf bristled, glaring back at Thorin, and was about to reply but Thorin continued, “But if my sister-son is truly in danger, and he speaks the truth, we can’t afford not to follow him. Come,” the Company followed her, Thorin with his eyes on her back, she could feel, out of the Forest.

And into the Barrow-Downs, home of the Wights of the Witch-King of Angmar.

Why, again, had Bramble wanted to leave the Shire? Home was looking like a pretty good option right now. She really, really could stand to go home and tend her garden. Just stay in the Shire. Stay where she was mad old Bramble, the un-aging Hobbit of Bag End. Right, that was why she didn’t want to go home. The stares were quite enough to make even the most patient Hobbit crack, and she’d had quite enough of being a novelty for people to tell their children about.

She could have picked a different way to leave, though. Here she was, looking for a lost Dwarven prince who was alone in the Barrow-Downs. Probably wandering into a Wight hole. Eru, she really hoped she didn’t butt heads with _Master Thorin Oakenshield_ the entire trip, or she would really end up doing something stupid to him. Hmm, maybe she could just slather honey in his shampoo the next time he bothered her, or convince the nearby wildlife to steal his clothing…

But, she acknowledged, there had to be a good dwarf underneath all the grumpy attitude and bluster of Master Oakenshield. She just hadn’t seen it yet, even if it was in his song. She had to believe it was there, because _the songs_ never lied. And it was loud, too, which meant he was honest about his beliefs, and who he was.

More honest than most. That had to count for something, right?

He also had a devoted Company of followers. Surely, someone as nice as Ori wouldn’t follow a complete lunatic? But she’d never know unless she gave him that chance. Stubborn, _bull-headed_ Dwarf! If he would only _bloody_ listen to her about the dangers they were in, they wouldn’t even be in this situation!

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND cut.
> 
> Yep, that’s exactly what Thorin’s going to be like until after Rivendell. He might change his outlook a bit, after Bramble saves more of the people he loves, but right now, he’s got absolutely no reason to trust Bramble. And she’s talking to trees, which all Dwarrow know is something only Elves can do. He’s suspicious, and rightly so, because she’s keeping a lot from the Company and clearly has no intentions of sharing it.
> 
> That being said, he’s also being a bit of a douche, and Bramble’s really sick of it. She’d like him to shut up and listen to her, but he doesn’t do that, so they’re at a bit of an impasse because both are used to people shutting up and listening to them, or not bothering to talk to them in the first place.  
> 
> Also, the tingling sensation from Thorin's song is really starting to bug Bramble. She does her best to ignore it, but it’s still there. Still poking at her when she’s not interested in it. She’s not interested in finding out what that blue fire is; she just wants to be left alone and maybe not treated like she’s an intellectual curiosity to everyone around her.
> 
> Yes, next chapter is the Barrow-Downs. You can imagine where this is going, or maybe you can’t? Honestly, this is actually the most fun-if the most difficult-story I’ve ever written, because everyone of my characters will have POVs at one point and will most likely become very fond of Bramble… Gah, most of the time it’s like herding cats, though, so I get stuck at random points in the story for no real reason other than the characters refuse to behave.
> 
> But, enough of my griping. THIS CHAPTER IS FINALLY DONE. It took me a year, but here are ~13,000 words continuing her story!
> 
> Note to everyone who was concerned: I'm okay, just had a bit of a rough semester back when I was trying to finish this before, due to injury, and then had to work REALLY hard the next semester. So, I'm ok now, just RL problems.
> 
> Second Note: I update sporadically-chances are, this story will be updated sporadically, as a result. Holidays and school breaks are about the only writing time I have during the semester and outside it, to be completely honest, so...yeah. I'll try to get a bit ahead for this story before I go back to school so I can update it during the semester, given that I've had ample writing time this summer.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations (later to be used for Khuzdûl and Sindarin words both):
> 
> Eä: The act of Creation, referenced in the Valaquenta portion of the Silmarillion. Eru Ilúvatar speaks this word to make the world of Arda come into being in the Void.  
> "Therefore Ilúvatar gave to their vision Being, and set it amid the Void, and the Secret Fire was sent to burn at the heart of the World; and it was called Eä."  
> (The Valaquenta)  
> (The mistake I made earlier is that the words "and it was called Eä" implied, with the way I read the sentence, that the Secret Fire was what was called Eä, not the act of Creation itself.)
> 
> In my universe, Hobbits are not a derivative race of Men. They have their own origin story (which is a secret) so they haven't ever corrected the Elves or Men about this misconception. Dwarrow just haven't asked before.


End file.
